


The Sun Also Rises

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Dystopia, Library Sex, Lucky (dog) - Freeform, Lucky is the best Avenger, M/M, Solar Punk, a mix of solar punk and aftro futurism, action adventure, books are cool, marvel trumps hate, rom com, the world is hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-17 20:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: Clint Barton is a scavenger, moving from town-to-town with his partner Natasha, finding the last bits and pieces of the old world for those who can pay.Phil Coulson is a librarian, saving as many books as he can, gathering knowledge in one place and trying to keep it safe.If Clint happens across books so he can see Phil, and Phil happens to always be there when Clint comes by, well, honestly, where's the harm in a little flirting?But in a solar punk world with little ozone, lethal organisms, and mutating infections, danger is always close by.  Some survivors aren't happy with the status quo and blame for what happened is fermenting pockets of zealots.  Clint and Phil are going to have to watch their backs and surround themselves with friends if they ever want to do more than flirt.My Marvel Trumps Hate story for luniana who wanted solar punk, scavenger Clint, and librarian Phil with a mix of rom-com and action adventure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luniana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luniana/gifts).



> This is my Marvel Trumps Hate story for Luniana. She wanted: 
> 
> Post-apocalypse, but leaning more towards the solar-punk side of the scale. Clint's a bit of a lone wolf, moving from place to place, scavenging what he can from abandoned towns and cities. His favourite thing to find, however, is books, because books means he might have a chance to speak to the Librarian (Phil). There's a settlement somewhere within his normal route with a teeming market and one of the last standing libraries that Clint's encountered. The man in charge of the library hits all of Clint's kinks, especially his wicked dry sense of humor, but Clint's not sure he's ready to settle down yet, so he comes and goes and brings his paper treasure to Phil's door in exchange for meals and a safe place to stay.   
> I sort of see Phil as leading a small team of people invested in protecting all the knowledge that they can, despite many people seeing the "old" as what got them into this mess in the first place and being wary of that knowledge. I can see the potential for some conflict coming when people want to destroy the old knowledge, rather than protect it and try to learn from it. 
> 
> I've included some links below for pics of some of the solar punk fashion etc. If you've never read about solar punk, here's a link to the tumblr post that started it all: http://missolivialouise.tumblr.com/post/94374063675/heres-a-thing-ive-had-around-in-my-head-for-a
> 
> I'll be posting a chapter every 7 to 10 days. Enjoy!

“So much for stealth.”  

 

The hinges gave way with a shower of orange rust and a loud crack; the iron door swung open, teetered for a second, then fell to the floor with a thud. Clint adjusted the outer lens of his goggles and dragged a glove-covered finger through the collected dust. Behind him, Lucky shifted, sniffing the air and generally ignoring his owner.  Two quick sneezes and the dog circled twice before plopping down. 

 

“Looks clear.”

 

“Readings are slightly higher than normal,” Nat’s voice crackled over the comms.  He tilted his head and bumped the earpiece, jiggling it until it slipped back into place. “What do you see?”

 

“Not much.” 

 

Stacks of papers, some smaller boxes, and a metal container filled the shelves.  He flipped through the documents ... birth certificates, marriage license, insurance, a will … then put them aside.  Whoever left them didn’t need them now. One box was a strand of pearls; Clint tucked that in his belt pouch. Two more were old coins still in the cellophane wrapping; they followed the necklace.  An ink pen and a pressed corsage he left alone. 

 

“Got one more place to check.” 

 

The container was locked, but he made short work with his pick, popping the top and aiming his pinpoint light inside. More papers, but then he hit pay dirt; two sheets of microfilm tucked into a black sleeve were hidden beneath a mortgage. 

 

“Found something. Might be what he’s looking for.” 

 

Clint carefully wrapped them in antifungal paper before stowing them in an inner pocket. As for the stacks of worn dollars that had covered the microfiche, he filled his containment pouch and zipped it closed. 

 

“I certainly hope so.” Her voice disappeared behind static then reappeared. “... can be a bitch about it.” 

 

“He complains, he can come out here and find it himself.”  Clint secured the straps and stood. “It’s not like we can know for sure …”

 

Beside him, Lucky woofed once, ears flicking up then whipped his head around and stared towards the east.  

 

“Damn it, I think we have company.” 

 

“Scan doesn’t show …” A loud thump and rustle. “ [ Дерьмо ](https://ochenporusski.com/russian-vocab/dermo/) .  Three blips, approaching fast.  They’ll be in the building in less than 2 minutes. Get your ass out of there.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am. On my way.””  He was in the hallway in two heartbeats,  heading for the front stairwell. 

 

He didn’t worry about leaving a trail; the odds of someone stumbling upon them were zero to none.  No, these guys were the ones who’d been trailing them for the last six months, popping up in all the same places.  A bunch of real assholes, they didn’t care how much damage they did or history they destroyed, just the bottom line of how much money they could sell an item for on the black market.  Nor did they hesitate when someone got in their way; Clint had stumbled across the three bodies they’d left behind in Fargo just three weeks ago. 

 

“What the … “ Lucky darted in front of him; Clint stumbled to a stop, almost falling over the dog’s body. 

 

“Rollins and Brasa, take the first floor.  I want those files.” The voice echoed in the empty house, bouncing up the stairs and right over Clint.  “Sewell, you’re with me.” 

 

Freaking ancient equipment; one of these days that damn scanner was going to be the death of him.  Reversing direction, Clint sprinted into the nearest room, jumping over a collapsed rafter beam and ducking through a door on the far wall. 

 

“There’s four and they’re here,” he whispered. “I’m going to try for the roof.” 

 

“Stay low.  I’ll cover you.”  

 

He moved silently, Lucky close on his heels, through a series of what had been offices. Desks were covered in moss, chairs with half decomposed cushions, ivy  hanging down where ceiling tiles were missing. Two more doorways and he’d be at the roof access. 

 

Then he saw them. 

 

Glancing back, he hooked left and stopped, staring at the enclosed shelves. Of all the manmade materials, glass was the one that survived the best, maintaining its integrity against the microorganisms that wormed their way between molecules.  Something about glazing technique and the properties of sand; Stark had waxed poetic about it once, but Clint had turned off his aids and only pretended to listen. 

 

“They’re in the office,” Natasha told him.  “What’s your ETA?”

 

He hummed low in his throat, more vibration than sound, and scanned the titles of the books leaning haphazardly against each other.  It didn’t matter what they were about, just what condition they were in, and he couldn’t see anything growing on the covers. They’d weigh him down; two were large scientific texts, three hardbacks and two more paperbacks.  Still, ever so carefully, he took out his last containment bags, unsealing and sliding the opening over one, wiggling it down until the whole book was inside then tipping it over and closing the bag back up. 

 

“Clint?” Natasha asked.

 

Footsteps on the other side of the wall. “Someone’s been here already. Damn it, this hasn’t been open long. The pollutant level is too low.” 

 

Lucky bumped his knee, looking back the way they’d come.  

 

“Give me a sec,” Clint muttered, trying to find room in his pack.  The smallest ones he slipped into the folds of his poncho, strapping them into the inner pockets. 

 

“Please tell me you’re on the roof.” That drop in Natasha’s tone said she was getting annoyed. “These guys mean business; they’re armed to the teeth.” 

 

“Be there in …” He froze as a floorboard creaked two rooms back.  Readjusting his pack … damn, it was significantly heavier … he eyed the distance to the door and calculated how much time he needed.

 

“Heading for the roof.”  The male voice was far too close; he’d have to take his chances and hope the guy was a bad shot. “Nothing here but empty offices.” 

 

Not bothering to keep quiet, Clint burst into motion, catching sight of a tall figure wrapped in protective gear;  he didn’t pause, running flat out and not looking back. 

 

“Got him!”  

 

A bullet slammed through the rotten drywall near Clint’s head; he skidded around a corner and knocked over what was once a cubicle wall. He took the stairs two at a time, landing on the balls of his feet and resting as little of his weight as possible on the crumbling concrete.  Big chunks fell as he jumped from one to the next, Lucky scrambling ahead of him, homing in on Natasha and leading the way. 

 

Two steps from the top, Clint felt his foot lose purchase; he wobbled on the disintegrating section, the heavy pack tilting him back.  Flailing his arms, he caught the rusty metal railing, but it turned to dust as he tried to pull himself away from the edge. Just as he was about to fall, teeth sank into his poncho and yanked him forward; Lucky growled as Clint tumbled through the access doorway and out onto the roof; he barked once then loped to the side, leaping over to the next building 

 

“Get off the roof!” Natasha ordered.  

 

Her bullet whizzed by, so close Clint could feel the wind of its passing; over his shoulder, his pursuer dropped.  Spurred on by the sounds of the others behind him, Clint launched himself off the edge before anyone else had him in their sights, dropping into a roll and ducking behind the twisted remains of a rooftop greenhouse. Fallen steel beams from a communication array made a bridge that stayed intact long enough for him to cross, breaking in half and falling to the ground with only a swift kick from Clint.  

 

“Two locks over, the church.  I’ll pick you up there,” Natasha said.

 

A few last cracks of gunfire then the shouts grew distant as he zigzagged across the empty city.  Always two steps ahead, Lucky sighted Natasha first, the sled hovering behind the cracked steeple; she ruffled his fur once he was onboard, ignoring Clint as he clambered into his seat, dropping the pack into the containment bin before starting to strap himself in.  

 

She threw them into reverse then a 180-degree turn; Clint almost slid out, whacking his elbow on the door. 

 

“Hey!” he protested.  

 

“Get the data, that’s all you had to do.”  She banked left and buzzed over the rooftops, keeping low to avoid sensors. “In and out, a simple job.” 

 

“You know me, if I see something valuable …”  He shrugged, finally securing the buckle. 

 

“It better not be books.”  She glared at him through clear lens.  

 

He had the good graces to blush, casting his eyes down to avoid her all too knowing gaze.  

 

“Damn it.”  She changed their heading. “Fine. But we’re going to Stark first.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Best thing about working for Tony Stark, hands down, was hot water and fluffy towels.  Yeah, the money was nice, the clean room in Stark’s building a great perk, but nothing beat being squeaky clean and wrapped in real cotton.  It was definitely worth putting up with Stark’s snarky comments and increasingly outrageous list of items he needed. 

 

“I’m telling you, Nat.”  Clint strolled out of the steamy bathroom.  “Next he’s going to send us into ground zero after something silly like a unicorn horn or fairy wings.”  

 

Sitting on the balcony, surrounded by a fall of green vines and leaves, Natasha’s red curls were tied back in a colorful cloth that matched the [ cabernet red split skirt ](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSGmgpl5CPjT3M9TQjgrqqjeh5hgIoldHJTh1MWuTyDWlqXLhIn) and silk top she was wearing.  Slats of filtered light made her seem ethereal, a creature not of this world.  Not for the first time, Clint thought that if he hadn’t been gay, he be head over heels for this woman.  As it was, she was his confidant, partner, and family, the only one … besides Lucky … that gave a damn about him.  

 

“With the acceleration of the mutation rate, we just might find it.”  She nodded at the clothes on the bed. “I picked that out for you; Tony’s having a little party tonight and we’re invited.” 

 

“Aw, you know I hate those kinds of things. There’s always those rich bastards who think they deserve to live in luxury while the rest of us can go to hell.”  He hung the towel over the back of a chair and picked up the slim brown pants, shimmying into them with bothering with underwear. “I was going to handle the rest of our business; you can be our representative. You’re so much better at schmoozing than me.”   

 

“There’s time to go to the library first.”  She smiled indulgently at him; getting paid always put her in the best mood.  “And I hear that your librarian is on the guest list for the evening’s festivities. You can make cow eyes at him and drink Stark dry.” 

 

“I love you,” he said, meaning every word of it. “You’re the best.”  

 

“Well, then, let me at least do your hair so you don’t look like an escapee from Eastern State,” she replied with a chuckle. 

 

By the time she was done, his hair was artfully tousled, held in place with a natural gel that Stark stocked alongside the chemical free shampoo and conditioner.   [ The shirt ](https://images.e-flux-systems.com/figures2.png,1440) … if it could be called that considering it was completely see-through, held in place by leather straps over his shoulders and copper chains that connected front-to-back … was a filmy piece of nothing that he instantly fell in love with.  Despite Tasha’s eye roll when he stepped into his combat boots, she let him go out the door with his pack slung over a shoulder. 

 

The afternoon sun could be brutal, but under the plant heavy trellis that covered the walkway, where mist floated from hydration hoses and wind-driven fans circulated the air, the temperature was humid but comfortable.  People took the hottest part of the day as siesta, napping or resting in their rooms, reserving the energy gathered by the wind turbines and solar panels for the cooler evening. Most shops were closed; only a few cafes and public offices had their doors open and, even then, few were doing more than sitting and sipping a cool drink.  

 

The library wasn’t far; everything was within walking distance. Once a college campus, the enclave was laid out in a grid, streets shooting off from a green space that had gone from lawn to community gardens. An area filled with artisans and crafters were the next circle then livestock pens further out from the central living spaces.  Everywhere, greenery spilled from balconies, covered the roofs, protecting the denizens from the sun and producing clean oxygen for them to breath. 

 

Bypassing the stone steps, pillared columns and wide wooden doors etched with patterns of the front entrance, Clint walked around the back, tapping three times on a small metal door.  

 

An imposing man answered and ushered Clint inside, ruffling Lucky’s fur with one big hand. “Heard you were back.  You all dressed up for Stark’s shindig tonight?”

 

“Yeah, Nat picked it out.”  Clint followed him down a hallway and through a glass door. “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to run these by you first.” 

 

“Hit me with ‘em.”  He held out a hand and Clint passed over the pack, happy to let an expert take over. While he waited, he fished a dog treat from the jar on the counter and tossed it Lucky’s way. 

 

“Mack, do you think I should …”  Phil Coulson, Head Librariann, the man who was working tirelessly to save as many books as possible, came through the doorway,  a jacket over either arm. “Oh, I … Hey.”

 

Dancing in a circle, Lucky demanded attention, nudging Coulson’s hand until he put the jacket down to pet him.

 

“Clint’s brought some new texts.”  Mack opened the last container inside the isolation chamber then shut the top and engaged the cleansing cycle.  “Give me five and we can check out the titles.” 

 

Phil peered over the edge of his black frames, his blue eyes taking in everything. “Well, that’s worth sticking around for. You always bring something interesting, Clint.” 

 

He felt a flush rise in his cheeks; digging his fingers into his pockets, Clint ducked his head when Phil’s gaze swung his way.  “Just happen across ‘em, that’s all.” 

 

“Last time it was an almost perfect copy of  _ The Collected Works of Shakespeare _ . That’s more than luck,” Phil replied. “Leather bound too. Lasts longer than the pulp produced paper stock of most book covers.” 

 

“Yeah.”  Clint couldn’t think of a single thing to say, his eyes caught by the rolled up sleeves that showed off Phil’s forearms.  

 

“It’s a constant race to keep the books from succumbing, even with all the protections we provide.  What we need is a way to control the temperature and seal all the windows on the upper floors; humidity got to a whole shelf of 576.8 last month.”  Phil warmed to his subject. “If we could figure out an organic substitute for the refrigerant in the air conditioning system …” 

 

“Underground is the way to go,” Mack injected.  “Easier to waterproof than to fix outdated equipment.  Maintain a perfect thirteen celsius and avoid yellowing of pages. Worked for the monks in the medieval period.” 

 

Phil shook his head.  “With the new strains of Stachybotrys, it’s too dangerous. Even the smallest amount of water and it would take hold too fast to stop its spread.  We can’t take the risk …” 

 

Tuning out what was an ongoing argument … he’d heard it twice before while they waited … Clint found himself staring at the slim cut of Phil’s navy pants. They were faintly patterned, vanilla curly cues that caught the light as he turned.  Topped by a soft white shirt, it was the  [ brocade waistcoat  ](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0703/7637/products/503blue2.jpg?v=1457285085) that made Clint’s mouth go dry, cinched in with simple leather ties that crisscrossed in the small of Phil’s back.  

 

“... Lynas’ work was the seminal call for change,” Phil was saying. “That’s an amazing find, Clint.” 

 

“Um, yeah?” Clint had no idea who  [ Lynas ](https://smile.amazon.com/Six-Degrees-Future-Hotter-Planet-ebook/dp/B002RI9F0E/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1548606223&sr=8-1&keywords=lynas+global) was much less what the book was about. “Thought it might be important.”  

 

“A copy of  _ Gaia  _ and  _ The Selfish Gene _ in such good condition.”  A smile spread across Phil’s face. “And what do we have here?  The paperbacks are a little worse for wear, but we so rarely see ones where you can read the text on the pages.” 

 

“Those are from a different location than the others; they were in a metal lunch box inside a steamer trunk.”  Clint stepped closer, drawn by the scent of paper and ink that hung about Phil. “The owner had abandoned it as they fled the city; thought they might be too far gone …” 

 

Phil leaned closer.  “Poems by Emily Dickinson!  A little pocket version. The Soul selects her own society and then shuts the door … I love that one.”

 

Pure joy filled Phil’s eyes, and Clint grinned, caught up in the excitement.  When he’d found the two small books, he’d known Phil would like them. “Because I could not stop, right? That’s her.” 

 

“Her most famous poem, yes.  She has so many … Oh.” He drew in a breath then let out a long sigh.  “ _ Sense and Sensibilit _ y, Clint. That’s my favorite work of Austen’s.” 

 

“That’s because you identify with Colonel Brandon.” Mack winked at Clint as the light turned green. “Stalwart and steady, that’s you.” 

 

“Better that than flighty and shallow.”  Phil reached in as soon as the lid was lifted and cradled the book in his hand.  “And he gets the girl in the end by staying beside her the whole time while she runs after Willoughby.” 

 

“Yeah, I never cottoned to Edward, all self-sacrificing for duty and some shit like that.” Mack gently stacked the others on the counter. “One thing I don’t like about those romantic novels; nobody just up and says what they want. It would solve a lot of problems if they just talked.” 

 

“Be a pretty short story then, wouldn’t it?”  Clint asked, mesmerized by the way Phil’s fingers stroked the book’s spine as he turned it over. “I mean, got to have obstacles or it’s just, ‘hey, do you’ and ‘yep’.”

 

Phil’s eyes widened, and he barked a laugh of delight.  “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in weeks; you’re perfectly right.”  

 

Blush deepening, Clint shrugged and dug his hands into his pockets. 

 

“Phil, aren’t you ready yet?” Melinda May, the assistant head of the library, called through the closed glass door. “We’re meeting the donors in thirty minutes; Stark promised us time alone with the deepest pockets.” 

 

“Barton brought some new things.” Phil picked up the jackets he’d laid on a table. “I had to stop and see.” 

 

“Hmmmm.” Melinda’s face remained impassive. 

 

“I’ve got to go too.” Clint skittered away from the woman’s steely gaze that saw far too much. “Nat’ll kill me if I’m late for the party, something about a potential job or two.”  

 

“Well, then, I’ll see you there,” Phil said.  He didn’t move and Clint had to skirt around him to get to the door. 

 

“Right. Yeah.”  Clint paused. “The blue one. It makes your eyes pop.” 

 

He fled before he heard Phil’s reply.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am such an idiot,” Phil complained as he followed Melinda across the crowded room.  “Going on about being Colonel Brandon. Like he needed to be reminded that I’m old.” 

 

She looked back, raised an eyebrow and kept heading towards the group circling Tony Stark. 

 

“Right, right. I’m not old, stop complaining, do something, put up or shut up.”  It was almost as if they’d had this conversation a few times … which they had. “But damn it, did you see that outfit?  I babbled, Mel. Babbled.”

 

“Hey, Coulson!”  Stark peeled off from two buxom women in raw silk saris and waved their way. “The man with the answers is here.”

 

Phil liked Tony Stark, he really did; an early adopter of clean energy and sustainable eco buildings, Tony was one of the few with any preparation when the microorganism began to spread.  He’d abandoned New York City in those first chaotic days and come to this small college town where buildings had doors above doors for snowy winter stretches when drifts blocked entrances.  Without Stark, Phil’s battle to save as many books as possible would have been a losing proposition. Still, the man could be annoying as hell with his genius-level ability to be three steps ahead of everyone else. 

 

“Just someone who reads,” Phil answered. Years of teaching smart-ass college students had taught him how to deal with Stark’s brand of humor. “Amazing what you can find in books.” 

 

“Such a luxury in this new world, paper. I understand you have quite a large collection,” an older woman next to Stark said. Dark hair swept up and sewn with crystals, her skin was darkened by the sun, wrinkled folds tinted with a shimmery powder.  An iridescent teal swath of silk wrapped her frail frame, a matching set of lapis lazuli gems hanging around her neck. “I have a few books of my own, first editions, that I dearly love.” 

 

This was why they came to these things; the library needed money, and rich donors were few and far between. 

 

“What’s your favorite?”  Phil asked; the sparkle that appeared in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. 

 

“I should say  _ Gravity’s Rainbow _ , but, honestly, it’s not my cup of tea.  I much prefer  _ The Wizard of Oz.” _  She smiled. “I like to understand what’s happening.” 

 

“I agree.” Melinda stepped into the conversation; she was so much better at this than Phil. “Dorothy Gale is one of my heroes.”

 

Much as Phil loved books, he was terrible at small talk; he could converse for hours about Greene’s theory of the multiverse, but chatting up a potential donor?  He’d trip over his tongue and piss them off in ten minutes. That’s why he always brought Melinda or Daisy or Fitz along; he could stand and nod, like he was doing now. 

 

“Oh, what an adorable dog!”  Expensive dress and jewels forgotten, the woman bent nearly double and offered her hands; Lucky went straight for licking her fingers and she giggled like a schoolgirl.  “I had to leave my Bertie at home; Vic says it’s not safe for him to travel. Oh, you are a good boy, aren’t you? So very handsome.”

 

“That he is; pet him and he’ll be your friend forever,” Clint said. 

 

Phil’s mouth went dry, his eyes immediately drawn to the expanse of chest on display beneath the soft fabric. In the warm glow of the lamps, there was so much tanned skin, dark pink nipples, a small scar by his collarbone, a faint trail of hair that ran from belly button to the waistband of his pants … an elbow drove into Phil’s side and he yanked his gaze away from the tempting expanse to see Melinda raise an eyebrow his direction. 

 

“... Bert’s a mixture of German shepherd and miniature collie, so her size isn’t the issue, it’s her temperament.  She tries to protect me and herd me away from other people …” 

 

Shifting his weight to one hip, Clint’s knobby fingers ran through Lucky’s blonde fur; Phil coughed then sipped the drink Melinda pressed into his hand. 

 

“... designed booties for Lucky’s paws; helps that he’s a Heinz 57 mutt. Got the best of all the breeds when it comes to …” 

 

The burn of the scotch pulled him out of his daze and warmed his gut; Lucky turned his head and whined at Phil. He smiled and offered his hand to be licked. 

 

“Phil’s one of Lucky’s favorite people,” Melinda said. “Clint has him trained to sniff out paper and ink.” 

 

“Ah, no, that’s …”Clint got that goofy lopsided grin he always had when he talked about his dog. “Lucky’s got good radar for mildew and pollen, but not books.”

 

“I have no idea why he likes me.” Phil slipped a hand into his pocket and gave Lucky one of the treats he’d brought for him. “None at all.”

 

Everyone laughed as Lucky sat on his bottom and peered adoringly up at Phil. 

 

“The way to a man’s heart is still through the stomach.” Natasha stepped up beside Phil. “Works on Lucky’s master too.” 

 

First time Phil had met Natasha Romanova, he’d been on top of a rolling ladder, shelving oversized map atlases; she’d simply appeared and grabbed a topographical study of the New England basin before it toppled to the floor. Why others thought her scary, Phil couldn’t fathom; a lover of imagist poetry, she smiled frequently, laughed at Phil’s jokes, and tolerated his hopeless crush without judging him.  Maybe because he had a soft spot for badass women -- he’d met Melinda in grad school then hired her as soon as he had a job available -- or because she reminded him of a red-haired Karren Murphy, his all-time favorite fictional detective, it really didn’t matter. He’d trusted her and considered her a friend from day one.

 

“Then we’ll have to feed you won’t we, handsome boy.”  The woman continued to talk to Lucky. “Let’s find the tray with those delicious little fish puffs and liberate a few. Ms. May, would you like to join us?  I still want to hear about your work with resistant inks.” 

 

“Knew she’d be a pushover,” Stark said as the two ladies left.  “Fought her son when he wanted to leave some family portraits behind during their move; she’s a formidable foe when she puts her mind to it.” 

 

“We could use a few more defenders.” Phil shifted, unsure what to do with his hands now that Lucky was gone. His eyes kept shifting towards Clint; he blinked and looked away, staring at the drink in his hand instead.  “Especially after last week’s break in.” 

 

“There was another?” Clint’s eyes narrowed, intensity turning the irises a darker blue. “Garden variety thieves or …”

 

“They targeted the compressor units in the basement; Mack thinks they were after the copper wiring, but I’m not so sure.  Tony designed them; they’re one-of-a-kind and run on compost.” Phil let his anger show; this he could talk about easily. “Haven’t had any burners, thank God, since the failed incursion a year ago.” 

 

“It’s like the wild west; corporate espionage gone completely crazy.  Someone went after the scrubbers, got one unbolted before we caught ‘em.” Tony tossed back the rest of his scotch.  “Can’t get the dome operational fast enough, if you ask me, and not just for the environmental protection. With the files you brought me, I’m just a step away from going online.” 

 

“That’s good to hear, Tony. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make the deadline.”  Obediah Stane, CFO of what was left of Stark Industries, slapped Tony on the shoulder. “There are some investors over there who need to hear that; if I can drag you away …” 

 

Tony sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Five minutes, no more.  I promised Barton here I’d show him my etchings. You know how much I love displaying my private collection.” 

 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Clint agreed with a serious nod.  “Pencil is my favorite medium.” 

 

“Jesus, Tony. You really are a pain in the ass.”  Stane took a cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers; only someone a privileged ass like Stane ignored the damage smoke could do to the enclave’s ecosystem. “Fine. But you have to be charming.” 

 

“Sexy charming or give-me-money charming?”  Tony winked as he turned to go. “I can do both …”

 

Left alone with Clint, Phil’s brain went blank, so he stood in silence, looking anywhere but at Clint.  He became aware of the violin trio playing something classical, or maybe …

 

“Is that …” he started to ask.

 

“ _ Shipping up to Boston _ ?” Clint chuckled.  “Yeah, they just finished  _ Back in Black _ before this one.  Tony pays ‘em extra to play his favorite bands. Plus, it pisses Stane off.” 

 

“That’s so … Tony.”  Phil managed a halfway decent smile that didn’t look too pinched. “Um, about earlier? The books?  They were great. Really. Important additions to the collection. I can’t remember if I said thank you, you know, on behalf of the library and all.”

 

“It’s no problem.”  Clint’s hands went into his pockets and he shifted his weight from side-to-side. “I was out and just saw ‘em sitting there.” 

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I get to go looking, so I appreciate it.” He paused and then hastened to add. “We all do. Mack and Melinda and Daisy and Jemma and Tripp and Fitz …” 

 

“Good people, all of ‘em.  You’re lucky to have them on your crew. We’ve got to pull together, especially now.” 

 

He fell quiet again and Phil couldn’t think of any way to start conversation up again, so he watched the crowd, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Clint.  Even that made Phil’s heart jump, the steady warmth of Clint beside him; he basked in it until Tony waved in their direction. 

 

“That’s the signal; I’ve got to go save him before he implodes.  Man has the lowest tolerance for bullshit.” The edges of Clint’s lips curled up. “Read those books for me, Coulson.” 

 

“I will,” Phil promised.  

 

God, but Clint Barton had a very nice ass; Phil watched him the whole way across the room, committing the way the leather hugged his curves to memory.   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Bruce Banner isn't responding to any communications; determined to find out what's happening, Natasha and Clint set out to the doctor's remote lab, Tony and Phil joining them to check in on their friend. Phil misunderstands Tony and Clint's relationship, Natasha hears the story of Phil and Bruce's comedy of errors road trip to save his research, and they may be heading into more danger than anyone expected.

“Clint.”

 

He rolled out of bed, gun in one hand, knife in the other, blinking in the harsh early morning light … and promptly tripped over Lucky and fell on his ass.

 

“Nat?”

 

She laughed at him as she handed him a mug filled with steaming hot coffee.

 

“I told you not to try to match Stark drink for drink.”  

 

The life-giving elixir burned as the first gulp went down, but he immediately took another. Head pounding, his tongue felt fuzzy and his mouth as dry as the new Southern desert.

 

“The man’s a sieve, I swear. No one can drink that much and not be shitfaced.”  When Clint had dragged his drunk ass back to their room, Tony was knee-deep in some eureka moment about deflector reduction or reduction deflection or something. Clint could barely remember his own name, and Stark was doing high-level math.

 

“Or you’re just a lightweight.” She tossed a clean pair of pants at him. “Get dressed; we’re meeting a potential client in twenty.”

 

“I drank you under the table that one time.” Clint juggled the mug in one hand as he slipped a leg into the soft cotton.

 

“I had the flu and was taking decongestants.”  It was an old argument, but Clint wasn’t going to let her forget he had to put her to bed once. When he reached for a crumpled shirt, she said, “Not that one, the green one, it’s clean.”

 

Clint stuck his tongue out; she whipped his favorite purple shirt out of his fingers, replacing it with a more complicated [one with waist ties and a deeper vee ](https://cdna.lystit.com/photos/totokaelo/91235ee9/martine-rose-Sand-Stripe-Wrap-Shirt.jpeg). “And I thought we agreed on a whole week off on Tony’s dime.  Sleep in a soft bed, take warm showers, and gain a few pounds.”

 

“This is a friend of a friend; I can’t turn them down.”  She picked up the shoulder bag that carried her gear. “She said it was an emergency.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint said with little heat; Natasha took care of her own, and he was living proof of it. He’d be dead at least twice over if it hadn’t been for her. “Can I get breakfast wherever we’re going? Cause my stomach needs some bread to soak up the leftover alcohol.”

 

“Lunch. It’s past noon, and yes, we’re meeting that little halal cafe.”  She stared pointedly at his head so he ran his fingers through his hair, dividing the clumps and arranging it to look more like an artful tousle than a just-rolled-out-of-bed head.

 

“The one with the artichoke hummus and sesame pita? They have the best spiced coffee.” ”  The thought perked him right up; he drained the dregs of his mug.

 

It was passing one o’clock by the time they got to the small establishment and snagged an outdoor table by the trellis filled with blooming Jewel of Africa strands. Natasha took the chair with its back to the adobe covered wall and Clint settled in beside her, Lucky at their feet.  They’d only just ordered … Clint a kafif chicken pita with a side of tabbouleh, Natasha a bowl of seven veggie couscous, and coffee for both … when a lovely young woman with dark hair and tanned skin wove her way through the tables to where they were. [Her gauzy dress, made of layers of thin fabric with a soft floral pattern, was two pieces, the sleeveless top laced up the front and the bottom fall of material that floated free at her ankles](http://www3.pictures.stylebistro.com/gi/Zimmermann+Front+Row+February+2017+New+York+R7hbAFYH2Vbl.jpg).   Silver rings covered her fingers, bracelets on her wrists and tiny gems dangled from her ears.

 

“Wanda.”  Natasha stood and gave the woman a hug.  “This is Clint; Clint, Wanda.”

 

“Hey.”  He took her offered hand. “Maximoff, right?  You have a twin …”

 

“Pietro.” The young man suddenly appeared, a wicked grin on his face as Clint startled.  “So this is Natasha. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

 

“Stop it,” Wanda told her brother. “Play nice.”

 

East European accents marked them as a long way from home.  But it was Pietro’s pale skin and white hair that told Clint all he needed to know; the guy was infected. He’d obviously survived the initial illness -- far too many people hadn’t, dying within 48 hours of contact -- but was still battling the symptoms.  Swathed hands, a hoodie pulled over his head, and the scent of Sabine’s sunscreen said he was trying to avoid more damage.

 

“Ah, you are no fun.” Pietro spun a chair around and sat down backward, winking at the waitress as she came over. “She wanted me to stay inside but how could I pass up a Maghrebi tea?”

 

Wanda rolled her eyes. “The rays are very dangerous today.”

 

“They’re dangerous every day,” Pietro countered. “This is my problem, and I’ll damn well be part of the solution.”

 

She sighed but nodded for him to continue.

 

“Have you heard of radiation therapy?” he asked them, going from joking to serious in seconds.

 

“Killing the infection with a negative isotope? Last I heard, it was worse on the body than chemotherapy,” Natasha replied. “You’re doing this?”

 

“There’s a doctor who’s come up with a safer alternative, a targeted injection.  I am part of the clinical trials and have seen some improvement in the six months since we started.”

 

“It is the most hope we’ve had,” Wanda interjected. “Pietro is not as sick and much stronger.”

 

“But we have not received the next shipment, nor had any contact with the doctor in two weeks and we’re very concerned.  This isn’t like him; he normally responds immediately to our data upload.”

 

“There are any number of reasons you haven’t heard anything,” Clint said. “Solar flares, broken lines, algae bloom in the wrong place.”

 

They exchanged a glance. “It’s plausible, but …” Pietro paused as the waitress brought their drinks. “There’s been some trouble with marauders; Bruce thinks they’re random, but …”

 

“Bruce? Bruce Banner?” Natasha shot Clint a look.  They'd taken a commission from the scientist a couple months back, locating a piece of equipment he needed.  Even though they never met him face-to-face, Banner was one of the few people Natasha would deal with again sight unseen.

 

“You know him.”  Wanda’s shoulders relaxed, and she finally sipped at her tea. “Then you know how to find him.  Good. We’re down to five doses.”

 

“Actually …” Clint began to explain.

 

“It’s a full night’s ride.” Natasha talked over him. “A day out a day back; that doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room. If we can’t contact him directly, he won’t know we’re coming.”

 

“I think he was working with someone,” Wanda said.  “He mentioned some journal research he was doing.”

 

“Clint can ask at the library; if it involved books, they’ll know,” Natasha answered. “I’ll talk to Stark; he usually has his finger in every project within 500 miles. We can leave after sundown.”

 

He drained the last of his coffee, stared at the empty cup then waved the waitress over for a refill. Clearly, he had no say in this; once Natasha put a plan in motion, there was no stopping her. Add in the glances his partner leveled at the young brunette when she thought she wasn't looking, and Clint was pretty sure they were in deep.  Whatever happened … was happening? Had happened? … to the doctor, they were going to find out.

 

Once the food showed up, Clint settled back in his chair and enjoyed watching his best friend make the girl she was interested in blush.  Seduction was Nat’s cup of tea; a single smile and women tossed their underwear at her feet. Not that he could blame them; when Natasha turned on the charm, no one was immune. That’s how they’d ended up a team; she’d talked him into ditching his no partners rule to help her beat his old crew to a pricey object.  He’d never regretted it. Her logic and planning balanced his recklessness and risk-taking; since going into business together, he’d moved up from barely surviving to working for the likes of Tony Stark. That meant eating spicy chicken in a warm pita and taking showers on a regular basis.

 

They parted ways after the bill was paid; all Clint had to say was “let’s go to the library,” and Lucky was dancing in circles around his legs, galloping four steps forward then returning to see why Clint wasn’t moving yet. Clint was fine with the plan, at least until the building came into sight, and he was hit with a sudden wave of trepidation.  Last night, he’d been sure Phil was checking him out at the party but then he’d cooled off, turning Tony down when he came back from his schmoozing to invite them up to his apartment for drinks. Tony had come on pretty strong with the innuendo, but Clint knew it was all talk. He might be an asshole punster, but say no and Tony respected it. Maybe he’d read Phil wrong; he was shit at telling if someone was interested.  

 

Climbing the front steps, Clint entered through the big wooden doors, passed through the decontamination unit and exited into the main foyer.  The beauty of the architecture never ceased to amaze him; intricate patterns spun across the tile floor while the walls framed scenes from classic mythology between tall columns and a buttressed ceiling. What had once been side entrances into the stacks were blocked off and turned into displays for artwork and sculptures salvaged from various locations.  A weeping redbud tree sprouted from the planter in the middle of the space, its roots covered in creeping phlox; more greenery was interspersed around the benches and pedestals. As much greenhouse as library, the whole area was a serene oasis from the heat outside, marble cooled by strategically placed fans.

 

Through the extra wide doorway was the reference desk, a relic of another time, clunky particle board sections on metal legs, battered laminate on top.  Three times longer than it was wide, it formed a barrier between the public space and the offices beyond. Long gone were the days when students could wander the floors, searching for call numbers to write essays;  now the library was more of a carefully tended repository of fragile paper and leather. Only in secure climate controlled rooms could patrons access the collection.

 

“Hey, Clint.” Leo Fitz, a young man with curly brown hair, looked up from his laptop; he pushed at his wire-rimmed glasses with his finger. “Was Phil expecting you?  He’s up in the attic, but I can run get him.”

 

“Nah, don’t bother him. I just need to ask a couple questions about a scientist, guy named Banner. I thought someone might …”

 

“Bruce?”  Jemma Simmons stuck her head through a door. “Are you looking for him too?  I can’t raise a response on the network, and I’m starting to get worried.”

 

“You work with him?”  Clint asked.

 

She motioned and Clint skirted the desk, entering the office area.  “I’ve been his assistant for almost a year now. Man’s positively brilliant; I’m convinced we’re really on the right track. I mean, it’s not a cure, but if he can slow the spread of the infection, that’s a step in the right direction.”

 

“When’s the last time you heard from him?”

 

“A week; I found an article he needs and sent him word.” She paused, concern in her eyes. “Do you think something’s happened?”

 

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” he assured her. “What I need is his IP and your password.”

 

“Sure.”  She jotted down the info on a small scrap of repurposed paper.  “I’ll shoot off another message just in case he’s receiving but can’t send, tell him you’re on your way.”

 

“Thanks.”  He tucked the info away. “That would help.”

 

He rounded up Lucky who was fully submitted to Fitz’s belly rubs but eventually got off the floor and headed back.  Stopping at a store to replenish supplies, Clint gazed longingly at a refurbished scanner with too many digits in its price tag; a few more jobs for Tony and they’d be able to afford something that worked on a consistent basis.

 

Electronics were hard to come by and even more difficult to maintain; part of why scavenging was a lucrative business was the demand for wires and parts that could be rehabbed and reused.  Older model machines made of metal survived much better than the plastic molded ones that disintegrated quickly once the organisms got hold of them. All that cheap junk that had filled modern life was gone now.

 

“I’ve got new filters for the rebreathers and biotics for the fuel,” Clint said as he dropped the bag in a corner of the garage where their sled was parked.  “Made a deal on some of that SPF gel, the kind that doesn’t make you break out. If we find any growths of aloe vera plants, they’ll give us a fair price plus inventory for personal use. I think I saw some last time we headed west, near that ship graveyard south of Isle Royale.”

 

“I’ll put the shovels and containers in the go box.” With her usual efficiency, Natasha knew exactly where everything was and made short work of unpacking them from storage and moving them for easy access.  “If we leave around eight we should get to Banner’s place by 10 am or so, weather permitting. Conditions are ripe for some heat bursts; might have to swing north to avoid them.”

 

Clint handed her the tote bag he’d filled at the market with fruit, nuts, hummus, and some fragrant meat rolls. Freshly baked pitas topped it off; he’d buried the cocoa covered raisins in the bottom. They were Natasha’s favorite, especially the spicy dark ones.

 

“Simmons is sending a message to Banner, and I’ve got her password; once we’re close enough, we can try to bounce a signal off the tower.”  

 

“Assuming he’s there to receive it.”  She sat down in one of the chairs. “I’ve got a bad feeling; this isn’t like Banner.  He’s too damn conscientious on a good day, much less when someone needs his help.”

 

“That’s why I bought these.”  He handed her two boxes of ammunition for her pistols; the new arrowheads and bow strings, he tucked into his quiver. “Used up the mad money from this last run.”

 

“You’re never going to get that new bow at this rate,” she said.

 

“The one I have is good enough,” he insisted. “So, what did Stark say?”

 

“That Bruce should have taken my offer to move here and use my labs.”  The man himself sauntered out of the stairwell, dressed in[ ripped black jeans, a Mickey Mouse shirt and a red leather jacket ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e4/86/08/e4860899abe2eba99151e631c95d3daf.jpg). “I don’t know why he insists on staying out in the hinterlands … Oh. My. God. Is that hunk of junk yours? A ‘57 frame with ‘72 chassis?  Who did the welding? The main axle is about to separate …”

 

“She’ll hold together,” Clint said. “Doesn’t look like much but she’s dependable.”

 

“Yeah, no. We’ll take the prototype airster.  I need to test the reverse thrusters anywho, so this is as good a time as any …”  He wrinkled his nose as he peered inside. “Plus, more room and environmental controls.”

 

“We?”  Clint glanced at Nat; she shrugged. “You’re coming?”

 

“Only way you’re going to get access to his compound is if I’m there. Banner doesn’t trust easily; he’ll need a friendly face.”

 

“Which is why I’m here.”  Phil stepped out of the shadows.  “I’ve known Bruce for years, and I’ve been to his place, so I know the way around.”

 

“Oh, no.” This was getting entirely out of hand. “No way. We work alone, right Tasha?”

 

“Actually, we might need the extra hands.”  She thrust his quiver and bow at him “If we’re using Stark’s transpo, we need to do an equipment check. Coulson, you’re in charge of the list.”

 

“Aw, Nat.”  Clint plucked at her sleeve, but she ignored him. “Really?”

 

He grumbled once more, just for good measure, then accepted his fate. Even Lucky had left him, dancing around Phil’s legs in his excitement, happy to have new people to pet him.  Hours trapped in a small space with Coulson? Clint glanced at the man in his[ comfortable pants, battered boots, and buttery soft jacke ](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b0/07/01/b007018206da59f737cfddc232558dc0--men-photoshoot-vogue-men.jpg) t; Phil looked good, casual and at ease as if he did runs like this all the time.  And was that … [ leather wraps around his wrists with a smart interface and testing gear, ](https://cdn-img-2.wanelo.com/p/61e/c94/414/5cc55f0fc2cea192d214402/x354-q80.jpg) the best tech Tony made?  

 

“... had Jarvis pack enough for a week …”

 

“Bruce’s compound is self-sustaining; once we’re there …”

 

Tuning out the conversation, Clint carried equipment and food up the stairs and over to Tony’s private garage.  They passed a row of vintage cars, restored and lovingly maintained despite having no gas to start the engine. Three sleds were at the back, each one shiny and gleaming, but the one Tony stopped in front of was the sleekest of the batch, looking for the world like something from a science fiction movie, painted hot rod red with gold accents.

 

“Subtle,” Clint mumbled.

 

“Not a word normally associated with Stark,” Phil replied.

 

“For that, I’m not letting you drive it.”  Tony flashed them both a grin. “Baby purrs like you won’t believe. High velocity engine with hover ability. Not a single emission and all it needs is air.”

 

“Jesus, Tony, that’s amazing.”  Storing the bags in the large trunk, Clint poked his head in the cab. Six seats with plenty of legroom. Digital readouts and a terminal for each one. “You gotta let me behind the wheel.”

 

“Maybe.” Tony dangled the keys. “What you going to give me?”

 

Natasha snatched the ring. “Neither of you are driving until you get some sleep.”

 

“Hey!” Tony protested. “I’m perfectly capable …”

 

“Hungover is still impaired, and I have no desire to end up splattered over what used to be the bottom of a Great Lake.  Get a good six hours and then we’ll talk.”

 

Tony grumbled but folded when Phil agreed to ride shotgun and keep her company.  “Mutiny, that’s what this is.”

 

“We were up pretty late.” Whatever it was, Clint was glad to accept the outcome; his head was still aching, and he wouldn’t say no to more sleep.

 

“Late is a relative term; depends entirely upon what I’m doing.”  Tony wiggled his eyebrows at Clint. “Or who I’m doing.”

 

“If you two don’t start helping, we’re never going to get out of here.” Natasha glared at Clint. “Go get the emergency packs.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint agreed.

 

* * *

 

In the dim lights of the dash, Phil kept an eye on their position on the map.  Below, patches glowed eerie colors -- red, purple, orange, green -- bioluminescent blooms spreading across what was once  Lake Superior, the only light in the darkness of night. Behind him, sprawled out in the seats, Clint and Tony slept, slight snores filtering up to the cockpit where Natasha was deftly handling the sled.

 

At first, there’d been conversation, Stark poking at everyone, Clint laughing, and Natasha ignoring it all. The two men finished each other’s sentences, snark flying, and Phil wondered how he could have missed it, the relationship between them.  Of course, Stark would be Clint’s type … rich, good-looking, funny ...a perfect foil for Clint’s own sense of humor. It had been a pipe dream to believe he had any shot, not when Tony was interested. At least he’d never said anything, so there wasn’t that awkwardness to work around now that he’d insinuated himself into this little jaunt. Finding out what was going on with Bruce was important to him, but he could have stayed at the library and waited for word instead of giving in to Mack’s gentle urging

 

Shifting in his seat, he checked the screen, running the miles per hour and coming up with his own estimate time of arrival; Natasha’s driving was ticking away the distance.  

 

“You and Banner are friends?” she asked in a quiet voice.

 

“He was in the chemistry department at the university, his first job post-doctorate; we’re both part of a dying breed, those who believe in liberal arts education instead of a skills-based curriculum.” Phil chuckled, the memory of faculty meetings where he and Banner provided a unified front.  “Then NYU seduced him away with lab space and a budget triple in size. They believed his research was important, and they were right.”

 

“Couldn’t have been a cure for those infected.”  

 

“Back then it was gamma radiation and its possible uses to cure cancer.  Bruce was one of the first to realize the dangers of the organism; called me in those early days to come help him get his data to safety.  It had only started in Houston and hadn’t jumped to another city then; by the time I got to New York, it was in D.C., Chicago, and L.A. Bruce had all his equipment and library in one of those big U-Hauls; thing guzzled gas and shook when we tried to go faster than 55 miles per hour.”

 

“Sounds like quite a road trip.”

 

“It was a comedy of errors. Damn thing broke down when we stopped at Penn State in College Station; Bruce had been working with a woman there, and she was going to come with us but everything went wrong.  Her husband was military, and he was in D.C., some big brass who was in put in charge of what would become the quarantine efforts. She’d left to help him with containment data while we were on the road; we didn’t get her texts because we were in a dead zone.”  

 

The anger and frustration had faded, the fear of those days dimmed by hindsight.  Melinda had been helping him understand that things happened for a reason, to accept the way they were, not how he wished they had been.  

 

“D. C.?  Did they get out before …”

 

“No.  She worked right up until the last minute; her research at ground zero led to the identification of the fluorocarbon link to slow the spread.”  Phil was silent for a moment in memory of an amazing woman. “We met Mack at Penn State; took us a day to find a new truck and move everything over. Another full day of driving and, well, you know how fast things happened.”

 

Natasha let him spin the story out in his own time; he listened to the steady hum of the engine.  The darkness was soothing, only the sound of steady breathing and his own heart beating.

 

“I tried to get him to stay at the library, but Bruce was adamant; one little mistake, he argued, and he'd contaminate the whole area.  No, he was set on Betty’s farm in the middle of nowhere Canada. Self-sustaining, he didn’t have to worry about his experiments.”

 

“Sounds like he’s on track,” she said. “If the trials are any proof.”

 

“Yeah, it’s been a long row to hoe, but he’s getting there.”  

 

“That why they’ve been bothering him?  Because he’s onto something?”

 

Phil glanced sideways at the driver’s seat. “It was constant from the start.  The scavengers thought he’d be easy pickings; they targeted his generator, the wind turbine … but these last ones, they’re different, more organized, better armed.  Targeted even.”

 

“We’ve run into a couple of groups like that; last job, they were literally steps behind Clint when he stopped to get those books.”  

 

“He stopped …”  Phil blinked. “He shouldn’t put himself in danger like that.”

 

“Have you met Clint Barton? He can’t help himself.” She chuckled. “Like trying to out drink Tony last night. I had to carry him to bed; he was singing that damn song about bananas, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”  

 

“No, that was me.”  Tony stretched and sat up. “Clint was stuck on that we-ma-whop tune about the jungle. Man is a lightweight when it comes to scotch, but he’s a fun drunk, I’ll give him that.”  He kicked Clint’s foot.

 

“Wha …?” Clint curled the opposite direction. “Go ‘way.”

 

“Okay then, no driving for you. Stay asleep” Tony climbed over him.

 

“Fine, fine, yeah, give me a sec.”

 

It took some twisting and sliding as they changed seats. Phil ended up sandwiched between Tony, heading for the passenger seat Phil had just vacated, and Clint, squeezing into the driver’s seat.   For a moment, his hand was on Clint’s hip, a firm ass brushing against him, then he was sitting down and reaching for the buckle.

 

He thought sleep would be difficult ... he never dropped off easily, not even as a kid … but he closed his eyes and drifted into a light doze.  Sometimes, he heard Tony and Clint talking, strange snippets about sword swallowers and smoking jackets and arc reactors, but he slipped back under before he could make any sense of it.  In the reflection of the dashboard, the small cabin was cast in shadows, Clint’s cheekbones highlighted, his eyes dark and unreadable. At a point, someone turned on music, quiet guitar riffs without vocals; it filtered into Phil’s dreams, a soundtrack for the jumble of images that always returned to a set of blue-grey eyes and crooked smile.

 

Next thing he knew, light filled the cabin; he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced out of the window.  Trees zipped by, dense forest bisected by the one lane track they followed, giving way to cultivated groves and neat rows of a garden.  The ground rose ahead, an old farmhouse with yellowed clapboard siding sitting on top of a small hill, a row of solar panels on the roof and wind turbines lined up behind.  A couple outbuildings squatted on the edge of the woods, a well not far from the back porch. The place looked exactly as Phil remembered it except for the gaping hole in the side, splintered planks blackened and shredded.

 

“Jesus.”  Tony gripped the dash as Clint brought them in for a landing. “What the hell happened?”

 

“Let’s find out,” Natasha said as she tucked a pistol into her belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's Betty Ross that Bruce and Phil just missed at Penn State; in the comics, she's married to Glen Talbot, an army guy. I can imagine her working until the last minute to find a solution. I picked Penn State at College Station on purpose; some of the first groundbreaking research on climate change came from there, so it's a tip of the hat to those scientists. 
> 
> There are people working on cars that use air movement to hover above the ground. Figured Tony would have one that worked AND was luxurious. 
> 
> I'm using Northen Michigan University as the location of the library and enclave, but playing very loose and fast with the campus. Also pretty heavily influenced by Ann Arbor, Michigan, home of the University of Michigan flagship campus. There's an amazing halal cafe there with great Maghrebi tea. :)
> 
> Going with a rise in temperatures and solar activity, I've shifted the livable areas further north. What once was northern snowy lands would be more temperate. 
> 
> Gah, but if Clark Gregg showed up somewhere in that tan leather jacket, I'd go pretty damn crazy. My body wouldn't be ready.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse when Clint and the others get to Banner's house. Tony may not have been completely forthcoming, Bruce may be more than he seems, and Clint definitely does something dangerously stupid.

“What the fuck?”  Tony stopped in the doorway of what had once been a lab; equipment was torn to pieces, large chunks of the wall missing. A fine layer of particulates covered the surfaces and filtered into the cracks.  “Are those bullet holes?” 

 

“I’m more worried about these.”  Natasha stopped by a circular spider web of cracks that spiraled out from a point of impact.  “Whatever made them hit hard enough to punch through the drywall and framing.” 

 

“Been somewhere between three to seven days since it happened.”  Clint tugged Lucky from the mound of debris he’d been sniffing; the edge of a notebook poked up between broken pieces of a bookcase. Lucky wagged his tail, woofed through his mask and stepped his booted feet lightly over a microscope. 

 

“How do you know?”  Phil asked. He hung back in the kitchen, shotgun hanging over one forearm. When he’d picked the weapon and loaded it with practiced ease, Clint had felt a jolt of lust at the sight.  Smart, sexy, great ass, and competent with a gun? That was his entire checklist in one fell swoop. 

 

“Takes at least three days to reach saturation.”  Clint toed some metal tins that had tumbled to the floor; bright pink patches showed on the top and sides. “Seven before they bloom, so we’re somewhere in-between.  We can still salvage most of this if we decon it before the spores appear.” 

 

“He kept all his books and notes in glass cases along that wall.”  Phil nodded to the external one that was mostly gone. “Polymer paper that he made himself; we need to save as much as we can.”  

 

“First, we make sure it’s safe to even be here.”  Natasha peered through the opening. “Figure out what happened then we can start picking shit up.”  

 

Clint agreed with her; the back of his neck was prickling with unease just standing the middle of the room, wanting to feel a bowstring under his fingers.  Something had gone terribly wrong here, and his instincts were telling him to do what he needed to then get the hell out of Dodge. 

 

“Lucky and I will take the perimeter,” he volunteered. “See what we can find.” 

 

“I’ve got the lab.” Tony righted a workstation and flicked on a laptop, trying to boot it up.  

 

“That leaves me with the rest of the house; Coulson can help you check the outbuildings.”  Natasha, once decided, moved briskly past him. “Don’t forget to look down the well.” 

 

“Once. That was once,” Clint groused. “Silver tarnishes in water, so excuse me for not thinking to search the damn well.”  

 

She shot him a smile over her shoulder. “If you go diving, remember protection! Don’t want you catching anything.” 

 

“Jesus on a cracker, Nat.”  Clint didn’t want to see Phil’s reaction to her pointed barb; best friend or not, her sense of humor was an acquired taste.  “I’ll be sure and duct tape up if I have to.” 

 

“Duct tape?  Your gloves have a seal, right?”  Tony glanced around. 

 

“Damn rubber soaks up the water; the contaminates eat through it later.”  Clint took a roll of the silvery tape out of his pack. “Can’t beat good old fashioned redneck engineering.” 

 

“See? This is why we need real-life testing scenarios.  I told Obie those damn computer models weren’t enough.” 

 

Leaving Tony to grumble about protocols and cost-cutting, Clint headed out the front door and onto the porch, stopping to string his bow then slinging it over his shoulder.  Lucky bounded with excitement, glad to be outside where he could scamper off and smell the flowers in the planters and the overturned dirt of the field. 

 

“Well first?”  Phil bit back a smile as Clint grimaced. 

 

“Damn woman has to always be right.”  Clint strode over to the bricked entrance. “Doesn’t help that she usually is.” 

 

“It’s not that unusual,” Phil said as Clint leaned the bow against the brink and passed over his pack.  “During fires, people toss their china and silver in their pool, thinking they’ll come back for it; supposedly, there were secret tunnels that exit into well shafts used as part of the Underground Railroad.”

 

Clint wrapped the bucket’s rope around a wrist before he took the glow stick from his pocket, shook it,  and leaned over to shine it towards the water below. 

 

“Be careful,” he warned when Phil put his hands on the brick.  “Chinking is the first thing to go in most walls.” 

 

“Oh. Right.”  Phil stepped back.  “Been a while since I got out of the library.  Kind of miss …” 

 

Phil broke off as Clint hooked the rope around his thigh then his ankle;  using the crossbar to lift off the ground, he flashed Phil a grin. 

 

“Let’s see if we need to tape up.”  

 

Flipping upside down, he lowered himself into the well until he could see the water surface below him, adjusting his goggles to compensate for the growing darkness.  Dropping the glow stick, he watched as it sank, a bubble of light that slowly disappeared. He gave it a count of sixty before he hauled himself up and out, landing lightly on the ground by Phil.  

 

“If there’s anything down there, it’s too deep for a quick dip.  We’ll leave that for later.” 

 

The greenhouse was next closest;  inside, tables were overturned, plants scattered on the floor.  

 

“Damn it.”  Phil gazed through the window.  “Bruce has been splicing those varieties for years. There’s no reason to destroy them.” 

 

“Any competition? Other people working on the same thing?’  Clint circled around to what had once been a barn; now the stalls and loft were filled with all sorts of parts, equipment, and boxes, all neatly labeled and stored in protective containers or covered with tarps.  Nothing seemed disturbed as they passed through.

 

“A treatment for human transfer infection and mutations? There’s quite a few and Bruce was in touch with most of them. They were working together, sharing data.  There’s no reason for them to do this.” 

 

Trampled grass formed a pathway from the house to the forest; at least four sets of feet had run roughshod over a section of bean vines. 

 

“Yeah, pretty sure if Tony’s involved, it was more than medicine.”  Clint stopped, dropped to one knee and pulled back the mangled greenery.  “What the hell made these?”

 

Big gouges for the toes, heavyweight in the heel, the prints were the largest Clint had ever seen; it looked like regular sized guys had been running, the bigger one chasing them. 

 

“At least three of guys wearing boots.”  Clint slowly followed the trail. “One set disappears here when the big guy catches up; the other two made it to the tree line. I think maybe … damn.” 

 

The body was sprawled on its stomach, face down in the dirt, half hidden a good 30 feet away; the right arm was bent at an unnatural angle, the left leg folded double. A gun was still in the holster, an empty sheath for a knife.  

 

“Tasha? We’ve got a dead guy out here,”  Clint said, toggling on the comms. “Pretty sure something big chased them off, but keep a weather eye out.” 

 

“You think whatever it was threw him over here?” Phil nudged the body with the toe of his boot.  “That’s a kevlar grade vest and an army issue Sig P320.”

 

Clint cocked his head to get a better look. “K-bar and desert camo … military gear.”  Dropping into a squat, he gingerly lifted the body from one shoulder until he got a view of what was left of the face.  “So, either you read a lot about weapons or …” 

 

“Army Rangers; used the College Fund to pay for my undergraduate degree,” Phil said. “Since we’re asking, where did you learn to do that with the rope?  Gymnastics?” 

 

“Circus, among other things including a stint in the Marines.” Clint let the body drop. “I think I know this guy. We’ve run into this group of bastards a couple times; they have even fewer morals than most the people wandering around out here.” 

 

“I heard a group broke into Mayo in Rochester in broad daylight, stole medicine and equipment from the children’s wing.”  

 

Clint thought of the dead family he and Natasha had come across a few months ago, their homestead ransacked. Not just aggressive but organized; these guys were hitting specific targets and didn’t care who they had to hurt along the way. 

 

“Alright, Banner, what did you do to draw their attention?”  Clint mused out loud. “Stemming infections would be a …” 

 

Head whipping up, Lucky gave a sharp yip, his nose pointing towards a section of forest dead ahead.  Branches began to shake then a figure emerged; naked except for the remnants of a pair of pants, the man was covered in mud and pollen, dark hair matted to his head.  He stumbled, put a hand on the nearest tree trunk, then collapsed. 

 

“Bruce!”  Phil took off at a run. “Oh my God, it’s Bruce.”  

 

“We’ve got eyes on Banner,” Clint told Natasha. “Grab the field kit and bring a blanket or something.” 

 

He reached the doctor just as Phil stretched out his hand towards his friend;  grabbing Phil’s wrist, Clint yanked it back. 

 

“If he’s been outside this whole time …”  Odds were, the doctor was already sick; one day maybe, but closer to a week without protective gear? Between the sun’s rays, the heat, and the micro bacteria floating around, a human had no hope of surviving unscathed. 

 

“It’s okay.”  Phil pulled away. “Bruce is immune.”  

 

Reeling back a step, Clint blinked twice, letting the information sink in.  Immunity was a myth, or so he’d always been told. Sure, some people’s reactions were more manageable than others, their bodies fighting off mild exposures.  But no one was completely protected, at least that was the prevailing wisdom. Like the introduction of smallpox to the Native Americans, humans had never developed antibodies for a space-born organism. If it was true, then that meant …

 

“He used himself as a test subject?”  

 

Banner stirred and opened his eyes. 

 

“He believes his genomic sequence holds the key; working out here, he can test various strains without worrying about infecting others.”  

 

“Phil? What are you …”  Banner sat up. “God, how did I ... “

 

“There’s a hole in your lab,”  Phil told him. 

 

“They wanted the accelerator and all the data on the last runs.”  Brown eyes cleared as Banner pushed to his feet. “I’ve got to call Tony …”   
  


“Jesus, Bruce, you look like hell.”  Tony appeared, wrapping a patchwork quilt around Banner’s shoulders.  “I mean, not that half-naked isn’t a good look on you, but the bruises are a bit extra.” 

 

“Tony, the refraction factor; they were asking about the speed and focus …”  Banner fell into a fit of coughing. 

 

“Let’s get back to the house and get you cleaned up then you can tell me everything.”  Tony tugged the confused scientist along with him. 

 

* * *

 

“Okay, Stark, what exactly are you up to?”  Natasha put her hands on the kitchen table and leaned over Tony. “And don’t give me that ‘who me?’ look.  You know a hell of a lot more than you’re telling.”

 

As interested as Phil was in the answer to that question, he was having trouble concentrating. Sitting next to him, Clint was twirling a thin shaft of wood, tapping it every fourth rotation on the wiped down and sanitized laminate. The circus, the marines … Clint’s past was tantalizing, little glimpses that only made him more fascinating. Seeing him in action today was going to fuel Phil’s dreams for many nights to come. That and the way Clint’s ass flexed as he descended that rope. 

 

Tony had sealed the lab off; the house was equipped with an advanced filter that quickly scrubbed the air. There’d be a lot of cleaning to do, but it was far from the total loss Phil originally thought. He needed to talk to Bruce about getting one of those for the library.

 

“I’d say I’m wounded you don’t trust me, but I wouldn’t trust me either.”  He shrugged. “Not like you haven’t put it together anyway; you’re smarter than you let on.” 

 

“Well, I for one am as dumb as I seem, so if someone wants to spell it out for me, I’d appreciate it,” Clint said.  

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Fine, yeah, way to kill the mystery, Nat.”  He rolled his eyes. “The dome thing isn’t just protective; considering the tech we’ve been gathering for both you and Banner, I’d say there’s some defensive capabilities, most likely particle acceleration to destroy hostile bacteria. A big old bug zapper that would kill off the nasties floating around out here.”  

 

Tony’s jaw dropped and he stared.  “You … Fuck you, Barton. All this time, pretending to be a good old boy.”  

 

“It’s not a weapon.”  Banner stood in the doorway.   

 

“History’s full of good intentions,” Phil said.  “You should know that, Bruce.”

 

“No more infected people, Phil.  Safe crops in protected fields.” Bruce walked to a cabinet, unsealed it, and took out some glasses..  Dressed in khakis and a purple shirt, he’d showered and put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “Maybe even a way to unravel at the molecular level so we can reclaim areas.”

 

“Unravel?  Plants, animals, people?” Natasha’s eyes flashed with anger. “Jesus, Stark, you know exactly what this could mean. Stane”s probably already got buyers lined up.” 

 

“Fuck you, Romanoff.” Tony stood up and glared at her. “I’m trying to save the world, keep something worse from happening.”

 

“We’ve built in safety protocols …” Bruce began but Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

 

“We don’t have to justify ourselves,” he snapped. “I did build weapons once upon a time and everyone knows you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right?”

 

“Hey, we’re not …”  Clint tried to get a word in edgewise. 

 

“What? One of those burners who think all technology should be consigned to the ash heap of history?  You’ll take my money but sit in judgment of what I do?” Tony grabbed a glass from Bruce’s hand. “God, I need a drink.” 

 

“I think it’s a fair question.”  Bruce took a bottle of whiskey from above the fridge and poured a dram in Tony’s tumbler.  “We’ve talked about the ramifications, Tony. Some are going to want to use it for their own devices and others are going to want to destroy it.” 

 

“For what it’s worth,” Phil slipped in, “I think what you’re hearing is surprise more than anything else.  Someone attacked Bruce’s lab; we’re trying to put the pieces together of who and why. Sort of need all the information to do that.” 

 

Tony’s shoulders slumped, and he drained the shot before he spoke again. “Yeah, Yeah, okay.  Bad guys out there, questions in here. I get it. It’s just …” 

 

“People jump to conclusions about you, assume the worst. Public perception sucks,” Clint said. “And, neither Nat or I are the trusting sorts. Kind of thought you were being square with us about what we were doing; hard to hear we were out-of-the-loop. We’re the ones out here putting our asses on the line to gather up your bits and bobs.” 

 

“Rub it in, Barton.”  Tony motioned for Bruce to pour another; the edge of his lips curled up a tiny bit. “Compartmentalization to keep the word from getting out. If no one has a complete picture …” 

 

“Everyone is wandering around in the dark?”  Natasha snatched the drink from Tony’s hand and downed the brown liquid in one swallow.  “Dead body out there says that ship has sailed.”

 

Phil waved off the offer of a drink; the lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with him.  Alcohol would only make him crash sooner. 

 

“So, not burners?  Are we safe in thinking this is about stealing the technology?”  he asked. 

 

“Burners would have set fire to the house, not blown a hole in the side if it.”  Clint didn’t hesitate to wrap his knobby fingers around a half-full glass. 

 

“Actually, the hole was me.”  Bruce blushed, his cheeks going red.  “They had guns and I needed a distraction to get away, so I mixed some chemicals.” 

 

Clint caught Phil’s eye; they’d both seen the large footprint.  With a subtle shrug, Clint sipped his whiskey and didn’t say anything.  

 

“That’s my boy.”  Tony slapped Bruce on the shoulder.  “So, how long to pack everything up and get moving?  We can be back at my place by the morning if we …” 

 

“I’m fine here.”  Bruce drew himself up to his full height; he had an inch or two on Tony. “I told you, I’m not willing to risk moving to the enclave …” 

 

“May as well paint a target on the roof,” Natasha said. “They know you’re here and they’ll be back.” 

 

“But my plants are here …” 

 

“She’s right; you’re not safe here anymore,” Phil added. 

 

“I can’t …” 

 

“What about that old church, the one on that little mound just south of town?  Where those squatters were?” Clint tossed out. “Thick stone walls and lots of space.” 

 

“And a good sized basement.” Phil thought about it.  “It’s close to the lake bed for sample gathering.” 

 

“You’ll be close enough to work with the Maximoffs hands-on,” Natasha said. 

 

“Do I get a choice in this?”  Bruce threw up his hands. 

 

“Nope.”  Tony grinned. “I’ll get the place cleaned up and ready; we take the most important stuff now and come back for the rest.  Leave the equipment, I’ll replace it with new …” 

 

Tony kept talking as he put his glass down;  Phil tuned him out, too tired to follow the thread of the conversation. 

 

“... find a bed.”  

 

He jerked his head at Clint’s words. “What?”

 

“Nap,” he clarified. “Sneak upstairs before Tony puts you to work. Something tells me we’re going to be loaded to the hilt on the way back and sleeping might be difficult.” 

 

“There are books to be decontaminated.”  He wasn’t sure why he was arguing, just that he didn’t want to be the one who didn’t pull his weight. 

 

“Books.” Clint chuckled.  “Might have guessed. Well, let’s get to it.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Prioritize, boys,” Natasha said for the tenth time as Tony and Bruce argued about what to pack in the tight trunk space.   The doses for those in the trial were already onboard; now they were down to arguing about the last bits of space. “I’d like to get going sometime today.” 

 

Clint agreed; he’d been looking over his shoulder the last hour.  His head was aching, a steady buzz from one of his aids droning in his ear.  Even Lucky was agitated, circling the sled and weaving between the people then stopping to stare at the forest before starting again. 

 

“The seedlings are more important,” Bruce was saying. “They won’t last and I’ve spent too much time splicing …” 

 

A squeal and Clint yanked the earpiece out, cursing at the lance of pain. “Fuck!  Damn pieces of junk, catching every stray …” 

 

“Hear that?” Tony turned his head.  “Sounds like …”

 

“Get in,” Natasha ordered. “We’ve got to go.” 

 

“What about …” Bruce’s question was cut off by the zing of a bullet that slammed into the ground near Phil’s foot. “Holy shit.”

 

They scrambled; Clint drew an arrow, notched it, then pushed Bruce behind the sled and out of the line of fire. “Lucky, in.”  

 

The dog disappeared into the cabin; he had better sense than Tony, who spun his goggles and stood gazing towards the tree line.  “I’ve got four bogies on the scanner, coming from the Northwest. One’s …”

 

A motorcycle zipped between the trees, running silent on solar power; the man on the seat raised a gun and aimed their way.  Before he could fire, the blast of a shotgun knocked him off his seat. 

 

“Let’s go, Tony.”  Phil held the weapon steady and it was the sexiest thing Clint had seen in a long time.  

 

Two more motorcycles converged on their position.  Clint shot out the tires of one as Natasha shoved Tony through the open door.  Bullets dug into the earth, one pinging off the side of the car; Clint felt a sting across his bicep, but held firm, picking off another before they were on top of them.  

 

“Barton!”  One of the guys rolled off the other bike. “I’m going to enjoy this.”  

 

Jack Rollins.  Clint knew that voice.  A born follower, he punched first and for any reason.  Without a word, Clint buried his fist in Rollins’ solar plexus, knocking him back two steps.  

 

“I’m going to beat you into a pulp and leave you on the trash heap.”  

 

“Let it go.” Natasha yanked his collar. “We can …”

 

A boom and the car rocked backward as a sled slammed into it from the other side.  Clint glanced at it and Rollins got the drop on him, slamming his elbow into Clint’s side then catching his shoulder with a roundhouse.  A blur of gold fur and Lucky sunk his teeth in Rollins’ ass, growling as he drew blood. 

 

“Fucking hell!”  Rollins shouted. “Rumlow, get over here and help me.”

 

The butt of the shotgun coldcocked Rollins; he fell to his knees and Lucky let go. 

 

“Atta boy,” Phil said, flashing Clint a grin.  “That’s a good dog.”

 

More emerged from the sled; Clint found himself hard-pressed by two opponents, both trying to knock him down with their fists, his bow no use in such close quarters except as a staff. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha land a nasty groin kick, and Phil grappling with another, both of their hands on the shotgun. 

 

“Drop your weapons.”  

 

The words had a chilling effect;  everyone stopped and stared at the guy with his arm around Bruce’s neck, gun held flush against his temple.

 

“Rumlow.”  Natasha’s voice was cold and low.  “I thought I smelled your stench all over this little operation.” 

 

“Too bad you tossed in with this lot,” Rumlow sneered.  “Should have taken my offer.”

 

Clint startled. “What? Nat? Were you …?”

 

“Aw, you didn’t know.  She keeping secrets already? The honeymoon must be over.”  Rumlow squeezed a little tighter, and Bruce gasped, body shaking as he struggled.  “Now put that down and be a good boy.” 

 

“Oh, I’m good,” Clint told him, lowering his bow. “But I’m not your boy.”

 

“However much they’re paying you, I can pay more.” Tony took a step away from the car;  two of the other men swung their guns his direction, and he stopped, raising his hands. “Just an offer.” 

 

“Everything’s about money to a guy like you,” Rumlow scoffed. “You don’t got the right equipment, Stark.” 

 

“You touch Romanoff, I’ll let her kick your ass while I watch,” Tony all but growled.

 

Turning down a big payday; Clint glanced at the others’ faces, saw the hard set of their jaws, the steady fingers on triggers.  They weren’t after a profit; their goal was something else. 

 

“You’re not a burner, or this place wouldn’t be standing.”  Phil handed over the shotgun. “What are you after?”

 

“All you gotta do is give me the beam generator and we can end this little standoff.” Rumlow’s smile was anything but trustworthy.  “Otherwise, the doc here’s gonna find it harder and harder to breathe.” 

 

“Doesn’t exist,” Tony argued as Rumlow squeezed tighter.  Banner’s fingers scrabbled against Rumlow’s arm, tried to break the hold.  Splotches of red appeared on his cheeks, a green tinge creeping up from his jaw. “It doesn’t!  We don’t need a concentrated beam, just a diffuse low-level emitter.” 

 

“You’re lying; we’ve read the doc’s messages to that girl. Last chance, Stark.” ” With a twist, Rumlow doubled-down on the choke hold. Banner quit fighting as tremors ran through his body, shaking growing more pronounced.

 

Clint had no doubt Rumlow would do it, take out Banner then kill them all and search on his own. Beside him, Natasha shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, preparing to make a move; with all the guns aimed their way, that would only end badly.  But that wasn’t the only danger; under Banner’s skin, something was shifting, growing, changing. 

 

“Damn it, there’s not one!” Tony shouted.  “Stop it!”

 

They needed another option. Taking a deep breath, Clint realized he was going to have to do something monumentally stupid. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

 

“You’re right. Enough foreplay; one quick twist and …”

 

Before Rumlow could break Banner’s neck, Clint interrupted. 

 

“I know where it is.”  He waited until he had Rumlow’s undivided attention.  “Let us go, and I’ll tell you which box it’s in.” 

 

“Don’t give it to him,” Natasha demanded. 

 

“It’s the only way we’re getting out of this, Tasha.” He was so glad she was smart as a whip; he could always count on her to follow his play. “This is Stark’s problem; I don’t want to die over some piece of tech I don’t even understand.” 

 

“See? I knew I could count on your brazen self-interest, Barton.  Tell me what I want to know and you and Romanoff can walk away. Hell, I’ll even throw in this nice shiny vehicle of Stark’s as a consolation prize.” 

 

“What the fuck, Barton?”  Tony glared at him. “What are you doing?” 

 

“Trying to salvage the situation.”  Clint almost flinched at the flash of hurt in Tony’s eyes. “Someone’s got to.” 

 

“Limited time offer,” Rumlow said.  “Time and tide, time and tide.” 

 

“Let Banner get a breath,” Clint insisted.  “And Phil goes with us. Non-negotiable.” 

 

“The librarian’s name is Phil?”  He chuckled darkly. “Fine, take book boy with you if he wants to go.” 

 

“Clint.”  Phil’s voice was soft and far too close;  no way Clint was going to risk looking at those expressive blue eyes right now.  “He’s planning on killing all of us if he gets what he’s after. You have to know that.”  

 

“Rumlow’s a scavenger, just like me. Everything’s negotiable.”  Clint kept his attention focused on Banner; color filtered back into the man’s cheeks as he dragged air into his lungs.  Banner’s once brown eyes met Clint’s and lids blinked once, slowly, over the green irises. “Isn’t that right, Brock?” 

 

“You have my word,”  Rumlow responded. 

 

“It’s in the barn.” Clint motioned with a nod of his head. “Let Banner go and I’ll tell the exact location. ” 

 

For two heartbeats, Clint thought he wasn’t going for it then Rumlow grinned and pushed Banner to the ground,  gun still trained on the doctor’s crumpled form. 

 

“Rollins, get your ass up and take Barton to show you …” 

 

The growl ripped through the air as Banner surged up, body contorting and expanding.  Clint spun on his heel and slammed his elbow into someone’s face, breaking their nose with a loud crunch.  Natasha flew into action, sweeping another’s feet out from under them. And Phil reacted at the same instant, grabbing the shotgun barrel and using it as a fulcrum to take the holder down.  

 

“What the …” A big fist smashed into Rollin’s face; blood spurted and tooth flew loose.  

 

“Fucking mutation,” Rumlow muttered as he danced out of the way of Banner’s angry swipes. 

 

Then Clint didn’t see anything else but the guy rushing him; his focus narrowed to avoiding the blows aimed his way.  The guy was good, some kind of martial arts training; Clint barely kept ahead of him, bobbing and weaving and generally staying out of the way of the worst of it.  He got clocked in the chin but managed to stay upright, kept his balance despite a wicked kick to the shin. Finally, he saw an opening and ducked under an arm to jab, jab, punch and knock the guy out.  

 

Heaving a long breath, Clint looked up into the barrel of a gun, so close he could see the rifling on the inside. 

 

“Never bought it for a second, Barton,” Rumlow said. “You’re too much of a pussy to follow through.” 

 

He had one second to register what was going on around him -- Natasha’s shout, Lucky’s bark, Banner’s roar, Tony’s curse -- and settled on Phil’s face as the last thing he’d see. 

 

Rumlow pulled the trigger. 

 

The gun cracked loud enough to blot out Clint’s hearing aids. 

 

Sunlight glinted off metal wings and a downdraft blew across Clint’s face. 

 

Pain exploded in his head and his sight went dark. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing loose and fast with science here; took the bug zapper analogy and ran with it. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil meets his hero, Clint's alive, and things kick into high gear as they realize where Rumlow's heading. And there's lots of talk of knights and heroes and just where Phil fits into the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be changing to 6 chapters; as I'm working on chapter 5, it's getting way too long and unwieldy, so I may break it into two. Might be a little longer posting since I'm rejiggering the organization to get it all in.

He cracked his eyelids open; distorted shapes with wavey edges filled his vision.  Blinking, he tried again; slowly the room came into focus. Dim light, bare walls, one lone chair.  Stretched out on a hard mattress, Clint raised a hand and touched the aching side of his head. Pain flared as his finger tips grazed the lump above his ear. 

 

“Ow.”  

 

“Hey.” 

 

A face hovered into view; dark skin, close cropped hair, smile brightest thing in the room.  Clint tried to turn his head for a better angle, but stopped when a wave of nausea rolled up from the pit of his stomach.  At his feet, Lucky raised his head and woofed quietly.

 

“Yeah, take it slow.  You whacked yourself pretty hard when the bullet grazed you.”  He helped as Clint took his time easing to an upright position. “You’ve got some serious balls, man, facing down Rumlow like that. Glad you made it.” 

 

Clint had a flash of boots slamming into Rumlow from above, knocking him over. 

 

“That was you?  The whole flying thing?”  He coughed, wished he hadn’t as throbs rippled through his head.  “Thought I dreamed that.”

 

“Nah, just me and my wings.”  The guy grinned even wider. “Got there just in time.” 

 

Metal wings.  Something niggled in his brain, an old memory from another lifetime. 

 

“You one of those pararescue guys down near Kandahar?  You guys were seriously crazy, dude.” 

 

“Yeah, man, where were you stationed?”

 

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”  He chuckled and it didn’t hurt quite as much as he expected it to. “Marines, Semper Fi.” 

 

“Talk about batshit crazy; no wonder you took on Rumlow’s band of hairy men. Sam Wilson.” 

 

“Clint. Clint Barton.”  Exhaling, Clint swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “Do I have to die to know where we are?” 

 

Wilson laughed. “Used to be one of those undisclosed locations in Northern Minnesota.  Can’t really call it a missile silo without a missile now can we? Steve thought it best if we brought you here rather than stick around Banner’s place.”  

 

Standing was a dicey for a couple seconds then Clint got his balance.  “The others?” 

 

“Hale and hardy except for the Doc.  He’s sleeping it off in quarantine.” Wilson’s eyes shuttered. “Damn hell of a thing what he did, dosing himself with potential cures. Can’t imagine living like that.” 

 

“Yeah.”  Clint couldn’t help but agree. 

 

“‘Bout time you woke up.  If you’re done being a diva, there’s food if you want.” Natasha stood in the doorway; her hair damp, clothes clean.  Jumping off the bed, Lucky trotted over to her at the mention of something to eat.

 

“God, yes.”  He could walk if he did it slowly and deliberately. “I’m starving. Nothing like almost dying to work up an appetite.”

 

Wilson led them down the narrow corridor with concrete brick walls and piping running overhead. Two doors passed and they came into a room where people gathered around a long table, a pot of savory smelling stew in the center, and baskets of bread. 

 

“Hey, there’s the man of the hour!”  Tony called, waving Clint over. “Pretending to go dark side so Bruce could do his thing.” 

 

“You didn’t have a clue, Stark.”  Clint homed in on a clean bowl, scooping up a helping then sitting it on the floor for Lucky and getting another for himself.  “Admit it.” 

 

“It was a good play.”  The man sitting next to Tony rose and Clint tilted his head to look at his face.  Blonde hair, wide shoulders, narrow waist, muscles for miles … an All-American wet dream.  The guy smiled and offered his hand. “Steve Rogers, nice to meet you.” 

 

“Yeah, thanks for the good timing. I like not having an extra hole in my head.”  Strong fingers squeezed his, firm but no macho posturing bullshit. 

 

“It was Carol’s idea to check in on Dr. Banner.” Steve nodded to a statuesque blonde sitting two chairs over.  “You can thank her.”

 

“Bruce checks in pretty regularly; it’s not like him to go incommunicado.” In a white tank with her hair pulled back, she was just as cut at Rogers, clearly ex-military. Fortunately, she flashed Clint a welcoming smile, and he felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit.  Nothing like being a room full of people who looked like they could kill him without breaking a sweat.

 

“Carol thinks the Doc’s cute.” This came from the dark-haired man lurking in a corner, flipping a knife over and over in one hand. “Brainy’s the new sexy, or so she says.” 

 

“Shut the hell up, Barnes.”  The woman’s glare might have quelled a lesser man but Barnes just gave her a toothy grin that did nothing to lessen the threat inherent in his posture. “You’re just mad because I can bench press more than you.” 

 

Rogers sighed. “You’ll have to forgive both of them; we don’t get a lot of visitors, and Bucky’s a little stir crazy right now.” 

 

“You get stuck in this dank hole with a bad knee for weeks and see how you feel,” Barnes shot back then winked at Clint; the upturned corners of his lips went a long way to making Clint think he was more asshat than asshole.  “I’d give my left nut to see the sun.” 

 

“Anyway,” Rogers looked pointedly at Barnes who subsided into silence. “Just glad we got there when we did.  Been tracking Rumlow and his gang for a good three months; nice to finally put an end to the destruction.”    
  


“Rogers here is the self-appointed law in these parts.”  Tony stood and clapped a hand on the man’s back. “Might as well call him the Sheriff and the rest of these guys his posse.” 

 

“Posse?”  Barnes began to laugh.  “That’s what we’re gonna call ourselves. Steve’s pretty posse.”

 

“Remind me why I put up with you again?”  Steve asked. 

 

“I saved your ass in Jalalabad. And Mosul.  And …” He ducked as Steve sent a spoon whizzing across the room; it clattered against the wall where Barnes head had been. 

 

“Rumlow’s awake,” Wilson said from the doorway. “Fucker’s mad as a wet hen.” 

 

“Good. I’ve got some questions for him.”  Rogers’ face grew stern, his jaw clenched.  “He’s got some innocent deaths to account for.”

 

“We need to find out who he’s working for and what they want.”  Tony stood. “Let’s interrogate the bastard.” 

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but that’s my job.”  Rogers drew himself up to his considerable height “You’re welcome to wait here …” 

 

“Look, Sheriff Biceps …” Tony slapped Rogers on the shoulder, stopped, looked again, then put his hand around one of Rogers’ arms. “Wow, are you this big and hard all over? ‘Cause, yeah, that’s worth thinking about.”  He stroked the muscle. “Thing is, you need someone who can ask the science questions, so I’m going in. You can be the good cop, unless, of course, you’d rather let me take the lead …”

 

“Fine. You can observe, but that’s it.”  Rogers headed for the doorway, Tony right on his heels.  “Sam, we’ll need to move Rumlow into the holding room.” 

 

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Barnes hopped up; he favored his right leg as he walked after them. “Immovable wall meets unstoppable force. Wanna watch the train wreck, Carol?” 

 

“Wouldn’t miss it. Anyone else coming?” 

 

“I’ll sit in.” Natasha nudged Clint towards a chair.  “Eat something before you fall down.” 

 

Clint’s stomach agreed.  He filled a big bowl of stew,  sat down beside Phil, and spooned up a big bite.  

 

“You know who that was, don’t you?” Phil looked star struck. “Captain Steve Rogers?  The raid in the Spin Ghar caves? Twelve days, seven men …” 

 

He put his spoon down.  “Wait, you mean that blood bath in the Khyber Pass?  That’s the guy? He’s not old enough.” 

 

“He was a month shy of his twentieth birthday. With his lieutenant dead, he stepped in and saved all those girls, walked them out of the mountains and back to their families.” Phil shook his head. “ Command ordered them to retreat then wrote the whole platoon off after three days.”

 

“I remember some of the top brass got hauled before congress, but that’s about it. Par for the course; some guy behind a desk makes a stupid ass decision and the grunts in the field have to deal with it.”  

 

“Yeah, well, the hearings didn’t cover the fact some wanted to drum Rogers out for insubordination.”  Phil crinkled his nose as if the very fact smelled as rotten as it was. “They didn’t think American forces should be involved in the rescue; called it ‘interfering in local politics’.” 

 

“And that would be why I mustered out as fast as I could.” Clint poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. “Never heard that before; in all the media hoopla after, that one General claimed credit for the whole thing.” 

 

“I was working on a book about Rogers, before all this.” Phil waved his hands. “Pretty immersed in his life story. I’d gathered tons of documents including a series of emails between officers in Kabul. Never thought I’d actually meet him.”

 

Hero worship.  That’s what the blush was staining Phil's cheeks was all about.  

 

“And when he came out as bisexual, just announced it during an interview?”  Phil sighed. “Brave thing to do even with the repeal of don’t ask, don’t tell.”

 

Oh.  Not just an academic interest. Well, hell. No way Clint could compete against a freakin’ war hero.  Especially one who looked like Rogers; the man’s ass was perfect. 

 

“Not enough people left to worry about who sleeps with who.”  Clint shoveled in another bite. “Sho go fa it.” 

 

“Should …?” 

 

Just as Phil’s head turned, the floor vibrated and a loud crash echoed down the hall. Clint was on his feet and heading out of the room when the second, harder shake sent a crack running up one of the walls. 

 

“What the …” 

 

A bullet zinged loudly, bouncing past Clint as he ran into the hallway, Lucky skittering on the concrete, following his lead.

 

“Rumlow’s loose.”  Natasha joined them, spilling out of a room, Tony behind her. “Must have had a tracker on him; they’re mounting a rescue.” 

 

Just then, the door in front of them burst at the hinges, Rogers’s body slamming into the opposite wall.  Rumlow came out swinging, tossing Wilson one direction and Danvers the other. A flood of black dressed men rounded the corner and poured towards them.  The small space descended into a chaos of fists and bodies. Pushed to the back, Clint swung a punch at the closest bad guy and ducked under his roundhouse in return. 

 

Rogers and his team came together and they were a sight to behold; like a well-honed machine, they fought in a circle, back-to-back, movements choreographed like they were dancing.  Steve, the leader, controlled power in his stance. Carol, tossing punches that landed with heavy thuds. Sam, darting around and under, finishing blows that knocked them down. And Barnes, a one-man wrecking machine, plowing through anyone who stood between him and Rumlow.  

 

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into Rogers,” Rumlow taunted. “Should have kept your self-righteous nose out of this one.”

 

“What happened to you, Brock?  You were a good soldier once.”  Steve dodged and punched another guy in the face. 

 

“Forget being good; I like fucking things up more. A little stealing, some mayhem, a pretty young thing every now and then…” Rumlow grabbed at Clint’s arm; he spun on his heel and lashed out, knocking Rumlow’s knee out from under him.  Another guy’s fist caught Clint in the side and knocked the breath out of his chest. 

Lucky growled and launched himself the assailant, teeth catching black cloth and ripping.  

 

“What the hell.”  The bruised and battered face was Rollins; he aimed his gun at Lucky. “Fucking animal.”

 

Clint plowed into him, yanking his arm and knocking the weapon out of his grip. “Don’t mess with my dog, you bastard.” 

 

Too many people in a tight space -- Clint’s elbow bumped the wall and he caught a glancing blow from someone else’s back swing. Phil ended up back-to-back with him, Natasha somewhere on the other side of the melee, Tony lost in the chaos. Only Rogers and Rumlow were easy to keep track of;  Brock kept pressing towards Rogers, turned back time-and-again by a rain of blows. 

 

“I’m going to tear you a new one,”  Rumlow said, his mouth set in a tight line. “Burn this place down.” 

 

“Drop it, Brock.”  Rollins tugged on his sleeve, the others retreating back step-by-step.  “We got orders, and need to get out of here.”

 

“Not until I wipe the smug off Rogers’ face.” Rumlow waded back in, heading straight for Steve. “I want to beat something.”

 

Barnes’ fist slammed into Rumlow’s nose; blood spurted and his head whipped back.  

 

“Try me, asshole,” Barnes said. They circled each other, Barnes dodging Brocks wild punches, waiting for an opening. Clint fell back as the two men blocked the hallway. 

 

“What’s the matter, Rogers?  Gonna let your butt buddy take your shots?”  Rumlow sneered. “Or Barton over there? He’s more of a pussy than …”

 

Natasha’s spinning kick snapped Brock’s head back; he stumbled three steps. 

 

“You’re next on the list, bitch.” He wiped blood from his chin. “Soon as we’re done, I’ll get to you and your boy.”

 

Rollins yanked him by the collar. “Come on, we don’t want to be crossing the lake bed at noon.”

 

Rumlow let himself be pulled along. “Be seeing ya. At least those who live.”

 

Before the bounce of the small object on the floor even registered, Phil was grabbing him and swinging him around, slamming his body against a wall and covering it with his own.

 

“Grenade!”  Barnes shouted.

 

Head tucked into the curve of Phil’s neck, Clint held out a hand, snapped, and brought Lucky to heel.  

 

“Sam, door!”  A booted foot flashed out, connecting with the metal cylinder, and Rogers threw himself on top of Tony.

 

A loud slam was followed by a muffled explosion; dust rained down from the ceiling, another crack spreading along the wall.  Clint let go of the breath he was holding and became aware of Phil’s scruff rubbing against his cheek. Arms braced on the wall, Phil’s shoulders flush with Clint’s, his mouth close enough for Clint to feel the stir of warm air against his ear, the heave of Phil’s chest, the pounding of his heart in his throat. Their hips aligned, Clint’s hands curled around Phil’s waist; the least movement and things could get really awkward.  Phil’s eyes flicked down and Clint licked his lips, a nervous habit that ratcheted up the tension. 

 

“Ah, um, I …” Phil’s words stumbled. 

 

They were so close that Clint could see the crenelations in Phil’s eyes, smell the faint scent of ink that always seemed to cling to him.  Clint’s mouth went dry, a spark of heat kindling in his gut. 

 

“Carol?”  Rogers was already in motion, sprinting down the hall after the fleeing men, Barnes on his heels.  

 

“I’ll take care of them,” Danvers replied. “Everyone okay?” 

 

Phil started, the moment gone, and stepped away.  

 

Clint glanced down at Lucky and over at Natasha before he answered.  “Good. We’re good.”

 

“Did they get away?”  Tony was sitting on the floor, running a hand through his hair, shaking loose dust. “How did they get in? Rumlow must have had a tracker or something on him, like they knew you’d be there and catch him and bring him here and damn it, he didn’t tell us anything at all.” 

 

“Damn big risk to take for scum like Rumlow,” Danvers said. ”Doesn’t make sense; these types usually turn on each other.”  

 

“It wasn’t a coincidence, them showing back up at Bruce’s,” Phil said. “Like they were waiting to see who came.” 

 

“Probably bugged the place, tapped into the communication lines.  Backtrack and find out who he was working with.” Tony rolled his shoulders. “Captain Hot Pants is heavier than he looks. I pulled a muscle just thinking about him holding me down.” 

 

“Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing.  Blew the hatch on the silo and repelled down.” Sam ignored Tony as he searched pockets.  “Working tech and retrofitted bikes. Who the hell is funding these guys?”

 

“Takes more than deep pockets to find weapons this new.”  Phil picked up a handgun. “And full magazines of ammo? I didn’t think there was that much left of original stuff.”

 

“Asshat Rumlow said it wasn’t about money and he doesn’t feel like a fanatic.” Tony stood up. “He’s more Wicked Witch of the West, I’ll get you my pretties and your little dog too level crazy. He made it clear you’re next on his shit list.”

 

Clint’s brain clicked and words tumbled out of his mouth. “Next. He said he’d deal with us next, soon as he was done. They had somewhere to be, and Rollins was in a hurry to get there.”

 

“The lake bed at noon. They needed to leave now to get over …” Natasha’s eyes widened. 

 

“They read Bruce’s messages, knew what he was looking for … Oh God,” Phil almost whispered the last phrase as it sunk in. 

 

“Fuck me.”  Tony stilled. “You don’t think ..” 

 

“You said it yourself. They’re going where they think the tech is, following Bruce’s communication trail,” Natasha said.

 

“Jemma.” Phil’s face went white. “They’re heading for the library.”

 

* * *

 

 

Phil leaned his head against the tinted glass and stared at the patchwork land speeding by below the sled. Brown and mottled grey where towns used to be were being overtaken by a vibrant green.  Left abandoned, the buildings were crumbling, invasive plants winding through rotting concrete and twisted steel. Splattered between were bright yellows and pink, sickly greens and blues of algae and mold, pockets of deadly blooms.  

 

“Surreal, isn’t it?” Rogers asked. Seated beside Phil in the back row, he’d been quiet during the rush to get a jump on Rumlow and his men.   With Bruce still sleeping, Rogers had left Danvers and Barnes on clean-up duty, insisting he and Wilson come along for protection. 

 

“I grew up just south of here; we used to come up to the Apostle Islands during the summer. That’s them down there, the patches of orange and blue.”  Phil had always loved those vacations, spending the day on the lake. “It’s all gone now, the cabins and the ice cream parlor, but I still remember. That’s important, remembering.”

 

“So you rescue books, archive memories.”  Rogers smiled at Phil’s surprise. “Bruce talked about his friend the librarian.  Said you were his hero, that you saved his research.”

 

Phil felt his face flush at the words. “Oh, no, I’m not …” He cleared his throat. “It’s guys like Bruce and Tony who are going to save humanity.  Tony gets this dome online, it’ll change everything. Safe zones for agriculture and living. Filtered water and protection from solar flares. Me, I just drive the truck and put books on the shelves.” 

 

“It’s guys like you who make it possible for geniuses to do their work.  Take the girl Bruce was working with …” 

 

“Jemma. Jemma Simmons,” Phil supplied when Steve paused.

 

“All the information she provided him with, research data.  Sometimes we forget people don’t work in vacuums; there’s more to a team than just the leader.”  Steve glanced up to the front where Sam Wilson was riding in the passenger seat, carrying on a quiet conversation with Tony as he piloted the car.  

 

“I still don’t understand what Rumlow thinks he’s going to find at the library.”  Clint shifted in his seat, one leg draped over the arm, his head lolled to the side. “Unless you have a cache of weapons in the basement or something.” 

 

“Jemma’s been compiling articles for Bruce for months; that last set of books you brought in was from Actuator Incorporated. They made linear accelerators there,” Phil said. “You had one of their manuals.” 

 

Clint shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t look at them.  Didn’t have the time to read ‘em; was too busy dodging bullets.” 

 

“Rumlow’s only interested if there’s a way to turn into a weapon.”  Rogers turned his head, set his jaw and stared out the glass. “People out here, they get hard, forget what makes us human. They let their baser instincts take control.  Brock’s more than willing to use strength to get what he wants no matter who gets hurt.” 

 

“Right makes might, not might makes right,” Phil murmured.  “In violent times, more than ever, we need a reason to be better.” 

 

“King Arthur, right? The Round Table, knights, the Holy Grail?”  Clint asked. “I used to love those stories. Lots of action and adventure wrapped up in … what did they call it? Cavaliers? Chevy something?” 

 

“Chivalry.” Rogers smiled as he said the word.  “An old fashioned notion.” 

 

“We could use a little old-fashioned, don’t you think?”  Phil asked. “What with everything that’s changed?” 

 

“That makes Mr. Perfect here Lancelot, right?”  Tony cracked an eyelid, clearly not really asleep. “Cause I’m definitely Arthur.  Yep.”

 

“I call Gawain.”  Clint paused, yawned then rubbed his eyes.  “Always did like the whole Green Knight thing.”

 

“Gawain was the one who got stronger during the day and weaker at night, right?”  Tony stretched an arm towards the roof. “That’d be Bruce. And Natasha is that female knight, the one who kicked everyone’s ass. Britannia? Boadicea? Brit something.” 

 

“Britomart.” Phil chuckled. “That certainly fits.”

 

“Barton can be Bors or Kay or one of those other ones.” Tony nudged Clint with his elbow. 

 

“Tristan.”  The name popped out of Phil’s mouth.  “The greatest hunter of the Table, he was the best with a bow.” 

 

Tony looked over the top of his goggles and raise an eyebrow.  “You have a serious thing for doomed romances, eh, Phil? Might as well just admit you’re Merlin to this motley band of knights and wait for your Nimue to lure you away.”  

 

“Good thing I’m not attracted to women then, isn’t it?”  Phil shot back. “I’m the last one to fall for feminine wiles.” 

 

“Uh Huh.”  Stark blatantly flicked his eyes to Clint and back to Phil. “Now that would make a good story.  Trustworthy knight drinks a love potion, ignores the gorgeous Queen he’s supposed to be protecting and falls for her advisor instead. About time we had a  little LGBT representation in those old tales.” 

 

“Or the love triangle’s not about who gets Guinevere, but the fact that the King has the hots for Lance?” Clint returned the favor, his eyes lingering on Roger’s biceps before he returned to Tony’s face. 

 

“Sorry, but Lancelot’s already having a torrid affair with Gareth, so that’s a no go.”  A smile curled up at the edges of Roger’s lips. He raised his voice and called up to the front, “Isn’t that right, Sam?”  

 

“What?”  Wilson called back.

 

“Torrid affair. You and me.” 

 

“Damn straight, skippy, I’m tapping that ass,” he replied, flashing a grin to everyone in the car. “Look, but don’t touch, fellas.”

 

A chuckle rose and Phil didn’t try to stop it, letting it evolve into a laugh.  

 

“Well, damn.”  Tony pretended to pout.  “What about Barnes? He’s pretty hot in that brooding bad boy sort of way.” 

 

“Oh, God, I’d pay money to watch you flirt with him,” Wilson said. “Please do it. Call him pet names and see what happens.” 

 

“Wouldn’t hurt if Bucky got laid, that’s for sure,” Rogers agreed.  “But, fair warning, Buck’s idea of dating is making sure your knives are sharp and beating the shit out of you while sparring.” 

 

Tony grinned. “I’m game.”

 

Even with Tony’s suped-up engine, it took hours to get back to the enclave.  Every minute in the air twisted Phil’s gut tighter as he thought of Rumlow going after Jemma.  He knew Leo wouldn’t leave her side and both Melinda and Mack would try to stop him. Good friends, his family … he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to them. 

 

He caught himself staring at Clint’s profile; eyes closed, Clint dozed, filtered rays highlighting the line of his jaw and the brush of lashes on his skin.  The small scar at the corner of his lip, the shaggy bang that fell across his forehead, a line of dried blood along his hairline, the dark circles under his eyes -- the last twenty-four hours, no, it was going on thirty-two, had been rough on them all, but none more than Clint.  

 

Damn fool had risked himself to save them; Phil had stopped breathing in those heartbeats between Rumlow aiming the gun and Wilson kicking him.  That instant of pure terror put so many things into perspective now that he had time to sit and think. Sure, meeting Steve Rogers was a dream come true -- a real hero of his own story like Beowulf or Gilgamesh -- but Phil was increasingly convinced he wasn’t part of that tale, that he was in Clint’s story, a completely different novel, a picaresque series of adventures and narrow escapes.  Clint was the rogue with the heart of gold, which explained why Phil was so attracted to him; he’d always had a soft spot for the bad boy who wasn’t really bad. Lazarillo Del Tormes, Tom Jones, Huckleberry Finn … Clint mirrored them all with his flash of wit, crooked smile, and devil-may-care attitude. Natasha was his partner-in-crime, a perfect foil of intelligence and ruthless efficiency to Clint’s good-old-boy act.  

 

Phil didn’t kid himself;  he was too lawful to ever be a picaresque hero, but neither was he a knight in shining armor or an all-powerful magician.  He was just a man who tried hard to do good and, at the end of the day, wanted to love and be loved in return. This new world was hard enough to survive; he believed, with all his heart, that they needed to help each other, to bring their strengths and skills together for the benefit of the community.  Tony’s genius and his tech. Bruce’s intelligence and his science. Natasha’s determination and her leadership. Clint’s caring and his creativity. And, yes, his own deliberation and preciseness. They were going to need all of it if they were going to thrive. 

 

“We’ll be landing in five minutes,” Natasha announced.  “I’m going to put her down near the co-op pavilion on the grass. We should split up, cover the library and Tony’s lab -- they’ll likely go there too.”

 

“My security can handle it,” Tony said. “They’ll never get past Jarvis.”

 

“The back door’s already sealed; Mack will have seen to that.” Phil sat up and gathered his things. “The other doors have been covered up with shelves except for the front entrance.” 

 

Stretching, Clint blinked the sleep from his eyes. “What about the basement and the roof?”

 

“There’s an old electrical tunnel that used to connect to the classroom building and the office tower; we blocked it with furniture and boxes,” Phil answered.  “Roof door only opens from the inside, but we prop it open when we got up to tend the plants.” 

 

“They’ll use that.” Rogers nodded to Wilson. “Sam’ll find a vantage point and keep watch.  I don’t trust Rumlow not to have a few tricks up his sleeve.”

 

With a deep breath, Phil saw the library come into view, the enclave’s buildings spread out around it.  No matter what, he was going to keep his friends safe, even if it meant bringing the fighting into his home. 

 

“The library’s got a few tricks of its own,” he said.  “We’ll be ready for them.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tristan, for those not familiar with the Arthurian Legends, is assigned to take King Mark's bride, Isolde, to the wedding. Along the way, they inadvertently drink a love potion meant for Mark and Isolde ... cue tragic love story beginning. He's a self-sacrificing idiot who refuses to come between the King and Queen, so that fits our favorite archer as well. Phil, I see, as more of a Bors, the knight who's with ARthur when he dies, the one who takes Excalibur and throws it back in the lake. 
> 
> I've been binging the Spanish show on Netflix, El Ministerio del Tiempo, and they did an episode on the picaresque with Lazarillo, so that's been in my head. It's a perfect description of Clint, the rogue hero. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libraries are strange places that take care of their own. Our story comes to an end with the bad guys in custody and our heroes finally getting their heads out of their asses and realizing they're perfect for each other. :)
> 
> This has been a lot of fun writing. Hope you've enjoyed the ride!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, each and everything described in the library here actually exists in a library I know. So often, libraries are buildings that have been added on to and expanded in odd and strange ways. One of my favorites is the Hoskins Library at the University of Tennessee Knoxville. There are stairways that literally lead to bricked up walls, areas only accessible by going down then back up and crossing under roads.

Phil took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. Arrayed around him was his entire staff, faces set and determined.  Jemma hid her shaking hands by keeping a tight grip on her baseball bat. Leo tapped quickly on his tablet, adjusting cameras and testing connections.  Daisy armed herself with Stark wrist bands, tied into the smart system that controlled the whole building. Mack’s fists were clenched around the shotgun, a bandolier filled with shells crossing his broad chest.  And Melinda, in black yoga pants and a snug black tank, spun the two short staffs in her hands, years of training in the controlled movements. The moment had finally come when they needed to be more than librarians and each in their own way had stepped up to the commitment to protect the knowledge contained in these walls. 

 

“Your team is badass.” Clint grinned as he tightened his quiver strap and tucked another knife into its sheath.  

 

“All the better to collect late fees,” he joked. A swell of pride filled Phil’s chest as he addressed them all.  “No matter what, protect Jemma first; everything else comes second, understand?” 

 

“Phil, the books …” she protested, but he cut her off. 

 

“People are more important.  Books, buildings, things … those can be replaced,” he declared. 

 

“Same goes for you,” Melinda injected.  “You’re most at risk in this plan and we need you.” 

 

“That’s why I’ll be watching your back.”  Clint’s tone brooked no argument but Phil opened his mouth anyway. “That’s non-negotiable, Phil.” 

 

He leaned in anyways. “Rogers wants you on the roof where you can take the shot when you have it.” 

 

“I can do that from top doors just as well. Rumlow’s coming up the main steps, mark my words.  I know his brand of crazy; he wants to do the most damage just because he can.” Clint stepped closer. “And he’ll take out anyone who gets in his way which is why I’m going to be right behind you.” 

 

“If they come from the top down, it won’t matter if I stand or fall.”  Phil stared Clint down. “We need to …” 

 

Clint’s hands fisted Phil’s shirt, dragged him in and then he was being kissed, hard press of chapped lips.  He couldn’t breathe, didn’t care, just kissed Clint back like his life depended upon it, waiting to inhale until they broke apart. Eyes blow wide, his brain took a few seconds to come back online; the first thing he registered was Clint’s goofy grin and the sparkle in his eyes then he heard the applause.

 

“You go, Phil!”  Daisy called. 

 

“About time.”  Mack clapped him on the back.   Melinda merely raised an eyebrow.  

 

“We’ve got incoming,” Roger’s called over the comms. “Looks like Barton was right; Rumlow and five of his guys  are heading for the front.”

 

“So, when this is over, would you like to …”  Phil started to ask. 

 

“Yes,” Clint replied. 

 

By the time Rumlow was climbing the steps, Phil was standing between the columns, blocking the doors.  He watched the men approach, didn’t flinch when Rumlow stopped far too close, trying to intimidate him with his height. 

 

“Librarian Phil.”  Rumlow looked him up and down.  “Got some balls on ya’, eh? You gonna stop us from getting inside all by yourself?”  

 

“Hope I don’t have to.”  He took the small drive out of his pocket and held it out.  “Here. Everything Dr. Banner asked for, complete files and search history.  It’s all there; take it.” 

 

Rumlow cocked his head, thought about it then took the bit of metal and plastic in his thick fingers.  “You know, I think I believe you. You strike me as one of those lawful guys who never breaks a rule. So what, you give me this and I go away peacefully?” 

 

“That would be nice,” Phil agreed.  

 

“Thing is, my employer won’t be satisfied unless I search every nook and cranny,” he said, “so I’m going to go inside.” 

 

Phil nodded. “As expected.  I’ll be glad to give you the nickel tour if you like.” 

 

That rocked Rumlow back a step. “You’re just gonna let me walk right in?” 

 

“What can I say?  I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to people; keep thinking they’ll rise to the occasion.”  He smiled, the image of Clint flashing before his eyes. 

 

Rumlow laughed. “You talking about Barton, you’re in for a rude awakening.  He’s like me; we do what we have to to survive. Man’ll fuck you over, trust me.” 

 

“Because that’s what you’re planning on doing?  Fucking us over?” Phil shifted his weight to his left side. “Take the offer, Rumlow.  This doesn’t have to get ugly.” 

 

“Oh, but I like ugly.”  Rumlow’s hand drop to his belt.  “And this is gonna be fun.” 

 

Before he could draw his gun, the man to his left dropped, an arrow protruding from his chest.  

 

“Barton!”  Rumlow grumbled as he and the others ducked, eyes cast upwards, looking for Clint’s nest. 

 

The distraction did its job; Phil retreated into the atrium, a good five steps ahead of his pursuit, time enough to dash behind the reference desk and into the spaces behind.  

 

“Spread out. I want this place covered from top to bottom and that device found,” Rumlow ordered.  

 

“What about the librarian, the girl?”  one of the others asked. 

 

“Leave her to me.”  Rumlow clicked the safety off his gun.  “And don’t worry about causing damage; we’re gonna burn this mother down when we leave.”  

 

Two went left through the recently cleared doorway into what had once been a reading room; two more swung right heading up the unblocked stairwell to an upper floor.  Rumlow motioned for the last guy to follow him into the offices. Phil waited until they were past the first two empty desks then ran down the hallway, feet clattering on the old tiles; he spun around the corner where the staff restroom used to be and opened the bar on the exit door that opened into the back stairwell. 

 

“Jemma, the basement!”  He called, voice echoing against the concrete block walls.  This part of the building wasn’t designed for the public, no beautiful mosaics or wood-paneled walls; the stairs were crumbling at the edges, the railing simple black painted metal.  

 

Rumlow was on his heels; Phil hugged the wall and went down the three flights as fast as he could, emerging into the bottom stacks, the oldest bound periodicals, and microfilm.  Skirting down the row with the yellow boxes of the New York Times, he almost plowed into Clint at the end of the aisle. 

 

“Hey, watch this!”  Clint pushed a library cart between the shelves; it careened into Rumlow as he came into sight with a satisfying thump.  “I love these things.” 

 

“Come on.”  Phil pulled him along to the stairs at the far end, slamming that door once they were through.  It would take some effort on Rumlow’s part to open and buy them some time. “I thought you were helping Mel.” 

 

“Nah, she’s got it handled.  Daisy overrode the safety on the automatic bookshelves and is going to help Melinda  trap their two somewhere in the 820s.” Clint grinned as they took a left through a small door; it opened onto a long hallway that ended in another set of stairs. “I’m pretty sure some bones are going to be broken.” 

 

“Barton!”  Rumlow smashed through the door. “I’m going to …” 

 

A sharp right and they were clattering downwards, exiting into a completely separate part of the library filled with study carrels and boarded up windows.  

 

Phil pointed to an archway at the back  “We’ve got to protect Jemma.” 

 

“Hold it right there.”  Rumlow leveled the gun at Clint  “Where is she? Tell me or I’ll blow his head off for real this time.” 

 

“I’m getting tired of you pointing that thing at me,” Clint complained.  “Don’t tell him, Phil. He’s an asshole.” 

 

“I won’t,” Phil said, slowly backing into the little foyer with two exits.  “Doesn’t matter anyway; you’ll never figure out how to get to her. This place is a maze.”

 

“Once I start destroying stuff, you’ll tell me quick enough,”  Rumlow said as the other man with him took a lighter from his pocket and flicked until a flame appeared.  “Paper burns so easily.” 

 

“Please.  Some of the books in here are the only copies left. Surely you understand how important they are,” Phil begged. 

 

“Like I give a fuck.”  Rumlow never wavered. “Tell me and I’ll leave the building standing.”  

 

“Don’t,” Clint warned.  “You know he can’t be trusted.” 

 

“I know, but I can’t risk it.”  Phil heaved a sigh and nodded to the door on his left.  “She’s in the catalogue room, the fourth door on the left, down the hallway, then second on the right.”  

 

“See, I knew you could be reasonable.”  Rumlow opened the door. “Arnie, torch it all and make sure our friends have a front row seat.” 

 

“No!”  Phil shouted, reaching for Rumlow. 

 

“Watch him,” Rumlow said with a laugh, shutting the door behind him.  

 

Before Arnie could move, a knife sank into his arm; he dropped the lighter, flame going out as he let off the flint lever.  Natasha appeared from behind a carrel, a leather belt ready to tie him up. 

 

“Wow, that was some bad acting.  Better keep your day jobs,” she said. “Please. Stop. Don’t throw me in the briar patch!” 

 

“He bought it, that’s all that matters.”  Phil helped her by balling up the hankerchief she offered and making an impromptu gag. “He’ll discover his mistake in about three … two … one …” 

 

Right on cue, Rumlow started banging on the door. “Hey! Arnie! Open the door, man.  There’s nothing in here.” 

 

“Old boiler room, right?”  Clint’s grin widened. 

 

“Yep. Nothing in there since the 90s when we installed that new HVAC system.  Well, nothing but the rats. We could never seem to get rid of them.” Phil returned the smile.  “Should never go in there without the key which is currently hanging in my office upstairs.” 

 

“You are a criminal mastermind,” Natasha told him.  He was pretty sure that was a compliment. 

 

“Nah, just watched Home Alone a few too many times,” he replied, “and know the library inside and out.” 

 

They marched Arnie back upstairs where they met Rogers and Wilson in the main lobby along with the whole library team.  

 

“You should hear them,”  Jemma was saying, “begging to be let out.  I can’t believe they went in there so easily.  Fitz was brilliant, turning on the HVAC so the turret stairs rattled. Sounded just like someone was climbing up.”  

 

“Easy actually.  Since they built the new floors and leveled off the turrets, there’s always been stories of ghosts up there whenever the air conditioners kicked on,” Leo said. “They’ll be starting to bake by now; temperatures get pretty high in the afternoons in that enclosed space.” 

 

Natasha dropped their prisoner off with the other four tied up and slumped by one of the planters.  

 

“We took care of the two from the roof,” Steve said, “and collected the two in the stacks.  Those automatic bookshelves are scary as hell; get caught in the wrong position and it could be nasty.”  

 

“The sensors ensure they don’t close on people,” Daisy explained.  “I had to override four different fail safes.” 

 

“Rumlow?”  Mack asked; he’d been tasked with ensuring neither Leo nor Jemma got hurt.  

 

“Making friends in the basement,” Phil replied.  

 

Beside him, Clint went stiff, his eyes surveying the group on the floor.  “Where’s Rollins?” 

 

It only took a few seconds to realize that Rumlow’s second-in-command wasn’t there.

 

“If he’s not here,”  Rogers said.

 

“Tony.”  Clint burst into action, running for the front door.  “They went after Tony.” 

 

Sprinting down the front stairs, Phil heard a loud thump and saw smoke billow from the top floor of  [ Tony’s building ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/90/6c/d3/906cd3e46eb4d1057caa80446d2101fa.jpg) .  They fanned out as they ran through the streets, Clint in the lead with Rogers right behind him, Wilson flying over their heads.  By the time they reached the lobby, people were evacuating; like a salmon swimming upstream, they fought their way to the elevator bank where a lone security guard was trying to direct traffic.  

 

“I’m sorry, sir,”  the guard said, blocking the doors with her arm.  “Mr. Stane has ordered a building lockdown.” 

 

“That’s a good idea.”  Rogers flashed her a thousand-megawatt smile, and she blinked in the onslaught of charm.  “I’m Mr. Stark’s bodyguard; call him if you like and verify that we’re supposed to be up there.”  

 

“I don’t …”  She paused as a group of teens exited the next car in a gaggle of shouting and laughter.  “I need to … Damn it, I knew something was off with those two guys who went up with Mr. Stane.  Go on,” she addressed the last to Clint and Natasha. “Here’s the key.” 

 

Smoke filled the hallway of Tony’s private floor; Phil yanked his collar up to cover his mouth as he followed the others into the living room. Sprawled on the tile near the entrance to his lab, Tony lay face down. 

 

“Tony!”  Clint dropped to one knee and felt for a pulse; Tony moaned and sat up.  

 

“Did anyone get the number of that backstabbing bastard who hit me?”  Tony ran a hand over the back of his head; his fingers came away with smears of red.  “What the fuck?” 

 

“Oh good. You’re all here.  That makes this easier.” Obediah Stane stood on the balcony, telescoping doors pushed into the wall.  “Now, Tony, tell me where the particle gun is or I’ll kill one of your friends. Truth is, you don’t have many, so you really can’t afford to lose any.”  

 

“Wow, way to be a real asshole,” Clint said. “Not a big leap to believe you’re the bad guy in all this.”  

 

“I’m not, really.”  Stane shrugged as Rollins and his partner flanked him, guns ready. “This is just business; someone’s got to keep this company from going under.  This technology will a big money maker.” 

 

“You’re going to weaponize it and sell it.”  Rogers’s disdain was evident in his voice. “We’ve been down this road before.” 

 

“Who the hell are you?”  Stane looked Rogers up and down then dismissed him.  “I must say, Tony, your boy toys need to learn their place and keep their mouths shut.” 

 

“Actually, I kind of like their mouths open, Obie.  That’s half the fun.” Tony used the arm of the couch to pull himself up.  “Unfortunately, Rogers here is already taken, so …” 

 

“Jesus, Tony,”  Stane said. “It’s time to grow up. You’ve read the reports, know what’s coming.  There’s already two bands of refugees moving north along the coast and more are coming.  You create an oasis and we’re going to be inundated with them, trying to force their way inside. A barrier isn’t going to be enough.” 

 

“Yeah, hungry people are really dangerous,” Natasha drawled. “Got to keep the unsavories out?  Shoot them with your fancy new guns?” 

 

“Not hungry. Sick people, mutations.  You have no idea; Banner’s just the beginning. The longer they’re out there, the more the organisms are going to change them, right down to the DNA level.  It’s going to be a war and we won’t be safe without more firepower. We have to be able to protect ourselves!” Stane argued. 

 

“History’s pretty clear on what happens when you try to stop a war before it starts,” Phil said. “Innocent people get hurt.” 

 

“Innocent,” Stane sneered. “They’re like locusts, draining resources and offering nothing in return.  If humanity is going to survive …” 

 

Wilson’s kick caught Stane in the shoulder, knocking him down; Rogers charged the second man and Clint tackled Rollins, driving a one-two punch into his fleshy middle then a right hook to his chin that knocked him out. 

 

“That’s for threatening my dog,” Clint told the unconscious man. 

 

“Give me the damn design.”  Stane lunged, grabbing Tony by the waist; they wrestled, knocking over a table and sending a lamp crashing to the floor.  Phil made a grab for Tony’s arm while Clint went for Stane’s legs, pulling up the edge of a rug and using it to trip him. His head hit hard and his eyes rolled back into his head before he stopped moving.  

 

“Is he …”  

 

“Alive.”  Natasha took his pulse. “Head’s going to hurt like hell when he wakes up.” 

 

Leaning against the couch, Tony was breathing rapidly, his eyes wide.  “Obie was behind it, all the thefts and break-ins. He’d been reverse engineering my designs from the beginning, turning them into weapons despite everything.  I thought he understood, that he didn’t want to do that anymore.”

 

“Adapting is difficult for some people.”  Phil eased down and sat next to Tony. “They think if they just do the same thing over and over again, they’ll get the same outcome.”

 

“He saved the company after Mom and Dad died, grew it, made it a Fortune 500 blue chips.”  Tony exhaled. “There were rumors that he cut corners, stole from other companies, took credit for people’s work, but I never … I didn’t want to see it.”

 

“You were busy dreaming up this,”  Rogers said, helping Wilson tie up all three men; he waved his hand at the building and the enclave.  “You’ve done well here, Tony, and this new barrier thing is going to make it even better. That’s worth remembering.”  

 

“Yeah.”  Tony nodded. “We get the dome working this place is going to expand pretty quickly.  Obie wasn’t wrong about the dangers; most of those wandering out there need help, but there’s a few like Rumlow and his band of miscreants who’ll cause trouble.  We do need protection. So what do you and your pretty posse think about relocating? Can’t think of a better people to run our new police force than a bonafide hero and his flying bum chum.” 

 

“I don’t know if I like you,” Wilson said. “But if the job comes with a place to live that’s above ground, I’m in.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“... to just dump them in the middle of the lake bed and let them fend for themselves,”  Tony was saying. “But Captain Truth and Justice doesn’t want to do that, so I guess a jail needs to be added to the plans …” 

 

Clint skirted past the knot of people surrounding the tied up men and headed for the reference desk.   Clean up had begun at Tony’s place and there were Rumlow and his men to deal with. There’d been little need for more than a basic government, a council of people, a few employees, and a monthly town meeting to decide the few disputes that came up.  They were ill-equipped to deal with seasoned vets like these guys much less Obediah Stane. 

 

“... restore the pages and recover it.”  Melinda turned to Daisy. “Beefing up the program security is a top priority.”     
  
“Hey, boy.”  Leo held out his hand; Lucky gamboled over, wagging his tail so hard he knocked a book off the edge of the desk.  “Aren’t you a good dog?” 

 

“He’s pissed that I left him in the room during all the action,” Clint said.  “He likes to be in the thick of things.” 

 

“It was kinda fun.” Leo grinned. 

 

“No.”  Jemma gave him a stern glance. “Tell him he’s not cut out to go searching for books with you.”

 

“I’m just saying, the library at Calgary had thermal windows installed in the vault; a lot of the collection could still be there,” Leo argued.

 

“Tell you what. Nat and I can head out there, check it out.  See how the building is, what survived …” Clint offered.

 

“See? Clint thinks it’s okay.” 

 

Melinda nodded towards the stairs and Leo and Jemma continued their back and forth. “He’s on the roof,” she said. 

 

He took the stairs two at a time, left the door as he found it, propped open with a chair, and found Phil checking on planters filled with french beans.  Under the arbor of honeysuckle vines, the shadows were a mosaic of black and grey and bright patches of light; he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and dark loam in his hands as he repotted plants that had been knocked over in the struggle.  

 

“Hey.”  Clint waited until Lucky had done his happy dance and settled on his haunches at Phil’s feet.  “Need a hand?” 

 

“Just finishing up.  All in all, they didn’t do too much damage,” Phil replied.  “These guys are pretty hardy.” 

 

Leaning against a trellis post, Clint took the time to study Phil, watch the way his hands dipped into the dirt, gently reseated the plant, then patted it back into place.  He’d changed into a simple linen shirt and loose vest, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Older, yes, Clint could see the faint crinkling around his eyes, the laugh lines on his face, but that was sexy as hell, the experience and good humor.  Sharp eyes that missed nothing … except maybe how much Clint was interested … but now that he knew, Phil’s lips curled up in a smile as he tamped down the last plant and turned to wash his hands in the sink. 

 

“So,” Phil said, drying his hands.  “Coffee? There’s always a pot on downstairs. 

 

“Is this one of those stories? The kind where it ends with holding hands before they ride off into the sunset?”  Clint stepped closer. “Pretty sure happily ever after was to keep the kids from knowing what happens next.” 

 

“If it’s an Austen novel, we’re pretty much done.  Elizabeth and Darcy don’t even kiss.” Phil’s smile widened. “But if we’re in an adventure novel …” 

 

“Dystopian future like _ Mad Max _ ?”  Clint leaned into Phil’s space.  “None of that young adult shit for me.  I’m an R rated guy.” 

 

“I’m hoping for explicit, a _ My Secret LIfe  _ memoir.”  Phil tilted his head and their lips met, slow, easy, no rush.  

 

“Yeah. I can do that.”  

 

* * *

 

 

“Gonna be easy, Tony said.  No big deal,” Clint grumbled as the blood rushed to head and pounded in his ears. Hanging upside down in an elevator shaft wasn’t the way he wanted to spend the afternoon, but Tony had promised this was a milk run, a simple stop and grab some computer hard drives.  Instead, they found themselves in competition with two other groups who were after the same thing. At least Tony had upgraded their tech; the early warning from the new scanner had given him enough time to snag the drive and hide before the others got in the room. 

 

“It’s gone.”  A guy with a death mask and white hoodie told his companion, a woman dressed in green linen and a black respirator. “Someone got here first.”

 

“Not too long ago either.”  She moved the metal housing and glanced around.  “Within a day.” 

 

“He’s gonna be pissed.”  The guy turned and Clint got a good view of the scary looking scythe sheathed on his back. “Already on the warpath because Stane didn’t deliver.” 

 

“We find the other interested parties and take them out of the picture.”  The crossed swords she carried had worn hilts. “But first, we deal with those A.I.M. idiots downstairs.”  

 

Clint waited until his wrist unit showed they were four floors below then flipped over and climbed to the next open set of doors.  The schematics showed roof access at the end of the hall; creeping through the tumbled ceiling tiles and what had once been desks, he slipped passed offices, doors ajar or missing entirely.  Gunshots rang out, somewhere below. Clint put on speed, the stairs just ahead. 

 

“Clint? Tell me you’re on the way,” Natasha said. 

 

“ETA five …”  

 

He stopped; through an open doorway, he saw a whole wall of books, enclosed behind glass doors. 

 

“... ten …” 

 

He stepped inside the office and saw another case on the opposite wall. 

 

“... damn …” 

 

“Get your ass up here now and we’ll come back for the books,” Natasha told him.  “I promise.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh my God.”  Phil touched the spine of the book with reverence. “This is a gorgeous copy of Tennyson’s Idylls of the King and another of his collected works.  Illustrated, no less, with the Beardsley prints.” 

 

Clint lounged against the table, enjoying every second of Phil’s careful perusal of the stacks.  He was practically glowing, carefully looking at each one, getting more excited as he made his way through the lot. 

 

“Figure it must have been some English professor’s office, given all the literature,” Clint said. 

 

“How easy it was when I think of the shelves of books I had, cheap paperbacks and more expensive hardcovers.”  Phil flipped open the pages. “It’s not the same now.” 

 

“We are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield,” Clint quoted. 

 

“Ulysses?  That’s Tennyson.” Phil’s eyes widened and he stared. 

 

Clint shrugged. “Heard it in a movie once.  Kinda liked it.” 

 

The Phil was kissing him, pressing him back, wrapping him up in his arms and holding him tight, not letting go until they were both breathless and panting, hard and wanting.  

 

“So, poetry turns you on,” Clint said with a grin. 

 

“You turn me on,” Phil replied, “but the poetry helps.” 

 

* * *

 

Clint woke in the dark, the only light filtering in from the balcony, the faint glow of the newly activated dome casting dim shadows in the room.  Curled at his feet, Lucky lifted his head, woofed once, then settled back down. Standing by the glass doors, Phil’s gaze was fixed on the fluctuating pattern, faint against the stars.  

 

“Hey.”  Clint raised up on his elbows, sheet pooling around his waist.  “You okay?” 

 

“It’s just …” Phil sighed. “There’s more out there, aren’t there?  Bruce says A.I.M. is a group of crazy scientists and we still don’t know who those other two were that you ran into and Stane’s talking his way into getting free, pretending to be all contrite and getting that General Ross to speak in his behalf …” 

 

Clint waited until he wound down.  “Yeah, life’s uncertain, but it always has been. That’s nothing new.  But look at the good things. Tony’s got the dome working. Bruce is making progress on a cure.  Steve and his team are here. The library’s safe.” 

 

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.  “You’re right.” 

 

“Come back to bed.”  Clint patted the empty place beside him.  “And I’ll show you what else is good.” 

 

When morning dawned, they were still awake, tangled together, kissing slow and languid as the first rays crept into the room.  

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Clint mentions is Skyfall ... M quotes Ulysses during the hearing, right before Silva breaks in and starts shooting. 
> 
> For eagle-eyed readers, A.I.M. is Advanced Idea Mechanics, one of the Avengers long-time villains/bad guys. In Iron Man 3, they say Aldrich Killian started it; in the comics, the story's much more complex and involves a big headed guy named M.O.D.O.K. (he's just a head in a containment suit). The other two are references to The Grim Reaper and Viper, two H.Y.D.R.A. mainstays. Had to suggest there was more out there!
> 
> I might just happen to have a copy of most of the books mentioned in this story on the shelves in my office. Makes me want to get a glass cabinet to put them all in. Tennyson's Idylls is a King Arthur story, and I do love his poetry. That's Pride and Prejudice with Darcy & Elizabeth holding hands. And My Secret Life is Victorian erotica, very, very X-rated tell-all memoir; I had a professor assign parts of it in class and, let me tell you, it made for one fascinating discussion with lots of stammering and blushing.


End file.
